


Hated You From Hello

by Araceil



Series: Hated You From Hello [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF!Harry, Bad Accents, Bitches Love Cannons, Cor can't People, Drama, Gore, Hate at First Sight, Homesickness, Hormone Train, Humour, Kimya is best girl, M/M, Minor Monster Hunter crossover, Miscommunication, Oblivious!Harry, OotP AU, PTSD, Past Child Abuse, Post Fifth Year, Romance, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Teen!Cor, Touch Aversion, Unreliable Narrator, Worldbuilding, chapter specific warnings in notes, no betas we die like men, one chosen one is as good as another right?, parselmouth, pre-game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2020-01-15 15:30:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 172,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18501823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araceil/pseuds/Araceil
Summary: Harry Potter meets Cor Leonis. He is not impressed. Neither is the young Insomnian.The Gryffindor paused, blinking at the stranger. He was about his age, wearing a military uniform of all things, and bristling like a Coeurl fixing to pick a fight, his boots were shiny and black, his uniform was clean and pressed, his hands and fingernails were also clean, and there wasn't a single button or seam out of place. Even his sword-sheath gleamed, shiny, clean, and flawless. Stood in blood and sweat stiffened leathers, with mud up to his thighs, dirt under his nails, across his cheeks, twigs in his hair, and his pistols dented and caked with blood after he used them to club the last of his prey to death, he felt incredibly dirty and small in front of the other teenager who was already close to hitting six foot while Harry had only just reached 5'3”.He hated him immediately.





	1. Chapter 1

Their first meeting was less than graceful. But it was certainly memorable.

Harry had been in this strange Eos place for all of three months, and he hadn't appreciated any of it to be honest. Well. That was a bit of a lie, but he didn't particularly want to acknowledge that fact, because it would open even further uncomfortable thoughts that he couldn't be dealing with right now. He hadn't given up hope of Hermione or Dumbledore or the Ministry tracking him down, but he decided that he couldn't live off Kimya Auburnbrie's kindness forever, though he knew she would be more than willing to let him, so the fact remained that he needed to pay his own way, and earn his own money. Which lead him to joining the Hunter's Organisation, which by all rights he was technically too young to do, but no one particularly cared about that in the current war – they needed all hands on deck to deal with fiends and daemons with the army concentrating on Niflheim.

Harry was.... not great with swords, and he was genuinely at a loss when one was unceremoniously shoved into his hands by Kimya's younger sister Ezma. He knew which end to stick in the other guy, but he was far better with guns – point and shoot. Using his wand was kind of like training for this, only there was just the one spell, and it was finite. Which was _really_ annoying and why he was in the middle of whaling on the trio of mushussu with the Durandal blade, his empty twin Quicksilvers shoved into the muddy leather holsters at his thighs.

And if he swore copiously while he fought, well, it was his goddamn right! The hunt required him to deal with an over-populated nest of these fuckers before it reached Meldacio, so he had been fighting twenty of these spiny little ugly fucks since sunrise. It was almost sun _set_ and he'd finally managed to bring their numbers down to three when some arrogant little shitweasel tried to steal his meal ticket!

The stranger vaulted down from the main road with a yell, stupidly drawing attention to himself as he brought a sword down from overhead at one of the mushussu. Harry didn't even think, he just acted, dropping his sword and lunging at the fucking shitstain with his barehands and fingers. As angry as he was, he didn't intend on _killing_ him, just making him regret ever doing anything so fucking stupid again in his life.

The stranger squawked in alarm as Harry ducked under his arm, elbowing his wrist into throwing his blow wide even as the wizard stomped on his foot, and rammed his forehead into the bastard's face. A Glasgow Kiss as Malcolm bragged when they were kiddies and he broke Harry's glasses for the last time before he went to Hogwarts. He snapped a knee into the stranger's stomach, and then twisted and shot a foot right into the fork of his legs.

He dropped like the sack of shit he was, wheezing with bulging blue eyes, and Harry left him to kiss the dirt as he realised the remainder of his hunt was fleeing back towards the ruins at the lake edge, and bolted after his fleeing prey, snatching his fallen sword as he went.

“GET BACK HERE YOU BASTARDS, I HAVE RENT TO PAY!!” he howled furiously as he took a running leap off the small cliff leading down towards the ruins at the Vesperpool's edge – the spiny bastards scuttling as fast as their fucking legs could carry them for the safety of the thick undergrowth and the other fiends that lurked closer to the water that he wasn't strong enough to deal with, yet.

He raced after them all the way to the first of the ruined buildings down the hill, skidding on wet mud and swiping wet foliage from his face before he caught up, and, with a furious yell, split one in half. The other two were harder to find, but he wasn't leaving the basin until he found them, killed them, and collected proof of their destruction. Only once he had could he collect his bounty with confidence and peace of mind.

The two remaining fuckers tried to lead him into a nesting cockatrice's territory but he pinned one by the tail with his blade and immediately made for the other one, bludgeoning it to death with the stocks of his Quicksilvers before turning his attention to the pinned one. It didn't put up much of a fight. He made sure to collect the poisoned barbs and scaled skin from each kill, he needed proof afterall, and he could sell them for a pretty gil afterwards too.

Wiping the gross mixture of sweat, rain water, mushussu blood, and mud from his face, he took a breath and just relaxed for a moment turning his face to the sky and letting the faint wind dry the sweat on his face. Then he turned and braced a foot against the final corpse in order to yank his durandal free, he wiped it clean and resheathed it at his hip before turning to begin the long walk up the hill to the main road.

Hunt successful, time to head back to Meldacio to collect his bounty.

It would be a long walk but he needed it after the extended combat, it would keep him warm and stop his muscles from aching too badly when he woke up tomorrow. Making sure his spoils were tucked up securely as he went, he found the dirt path that lead up to the road and skirted around a local gaia toad's attention, shivering a little as the air chilled with the herald of rain in the near future. Hopefully he would get into the tunnel before the heavens really opened, he might have been British and thus able to handle most forms of rain-based bad weather, but that didn't mean he liked it any. Wet feet were the absolute worst, and he hated getting his hands and face wet too. If he was swimming or showering it wasn't such a big deal, but rain water? No thanks. Dirty stuff.

He finally reached the main road, casting a curious glance over a group of men stood beside a fancy car, chuckling at something behind it, another member of their group? No one seemed to be injured or worried so he brushed them off. They certainly didn't _look_ like Hunters, or Niffs, or soldiers. Not really his business, and for once, he could easily push it aside, turn his head and keep jogging. It would be a long run and as he wasn't old enough for a motorbike yet, and while Kimya and Ezma lamented the lack of chocobos, Harry didn't even know what they were so he couldn't comment on the lack or abundance of them either way, if he wanted to get back home before nightfall he needed to keep moving.

The tunnel back to Meldacio from the Vesperpool lake was a long and cold one, thankfully he reached it before the rain kicked off, but he could tell that it started about a third of his way through the tunnel by the taste of the wind coming up his back.

He was about halfway there when that fancy car passed him, he ignored the commotion of voices inside as they passed, only glancing over idly to note that they were all men before they were out of sight. Given how close it was until sunset it was likely they'd settle the night in Meldacio. He wrinkled his nose and, not for the first time, gave thanks to the Auburnbrie sisters for taking him in. The caravan was filthy at the best of times, he didn't think he'd be okay with _sharing_ it at the same time either.

Night fell before he reached Meldacio. Because of course it did.

Kimya was waiting for him as he came sprinting out of the tunnel, swearing violently as he shook himself clean of daemon miasma, and nervously checked his jeans for holes – he _hated_ tonberries.

She laughed at him, and laughed harder at the bitchy expression he shot her.

“Nice to see you too,” he complained as he sheathed his sword and stomped past her.

Portuttle was at the restaurant like usual and Harry made his bee-line directly to him, waving idly to David, Ezma's son who was helping Norman with an armload of horns.

“Potter, glad to see you made it back in one piece,” the tipster greeted with a smile of relief.

Harry slapped down his papers and tugged off the pouch of his proof-carves, “Hunt successful!” he declared as he slammed it down, a hair shy of demanding his money then and there. He had better manners than that, and Portuttle was a pretty cool guy, he and his family had been running the restaurant here in Meldacio for generations, they'd seen almost every hunter that ever was come and go, had been there to see their names added to the list of the lost, and trained themselves to be the best support they could possibly be. But with it they also had to develop a certain level of distance, or apathy, to the fates of those whom they supported – otherwise they'd just end up falling to pieces whenever someone died on a hunt they sent them off on.

The tipster gave a glance to his papers before checking over his proof. Twenty different individual pieces that he checked with an expert eye – the number of hunters who half-assed a job and brought multiple carves from the same animal and tried to claim they had hunted multiple was astronomical. Every tipster had the eye of a jeweller, just to make sure they weren't being swindled, and they had gotten _very_ good at telling age, sex, and health of a fiend with just a glance at the carve presented to them.

“Well done. That was a tough hunt, I'm surprised you made it back, Potter. Twenty three thousand gil, and a Mega Phoenix, as promised. With this, I think we can bump your rank up again,” he decided with a grin as he set the promised rewards onto the table next to his pouch, and held a hand out for Harry's licence.

The Gryffindor passed it over with one hand and snatched everything up with the other, checking the debit card had the requisite amount listed on the back – hunter payment cards were issued much like gift cards were back on Earth, listing the amount within the card on the back of the card. The funds could be transferred into a legitimate bank account, but it made the card useless as they couldn't be filled again by normal means. When someone wanted a hunt done, they went to a tipster with as much information as possible and the tipster would declare the rank of the hunt and the minimum cost. The cost could be off-set by including items in trade, which was quite common as it could drop the price of a hunt by a good ten thousand gil in some cases. The tipster would then use a blank card and have the money transferred onto it by the bill poster, and hold both money and items in trust until the hunt was taken, completed, and the payment transferred. At which point they would inform the poster of the success.

It was a good system, but it relied on trusting the tipsters _heavily_. Something that Harry had some doubts about, but thus far, Lucis seemed to have a very different, much more.... _honourable?_ culture than he was used to. People were very environmentally conscientious here, and polite. Aside from the kill-stealing bullshit, but times were desperate and so were people. Hence why Harry _didn't_ kill the guy he took down earlier, he'd just warn the other hunters about the kill-stealer in the area.

Portuttle handed him his licence back, showing the increase in rank, dug into his pocket and shoved a bracelet at him, “Congratulations.” Grinning at him as Harry quickly stowed it away after a curious look. He didn't know what kind of bracelet it was, but he could tell it had a fairly solid enchantment on it, he'd take it to the Cutlass van tomorrow to see what it did if he couldn't figure it out himself.

“Thanks Tim. I'll swing by tonight to help with the washing up, kay?” he asked, relaxing now that he had cash in hand. The tipster didn't take it personally, he just laughed and ruffled his hair.

“Sure thing, kid. Now off you go,” he bid nodding to where the two sisters were fixing to get into another argument again. Harry groaned when he saw it and quickly snatched up his papers for the hunt (because he liked keeping track of them, and it seemed like a good idea to keep a record), and rushed over to pay the two his rent – and break up their argument.

The fancy city folk didn't register on his radar as he let Kimya hug and fuss over him, grimacing as Ezma snorted and pinched his cheek hard, calling him adorable.

But they certainly recognised him, or rather one of them did.

“You!” the shortest of the group snarled as Harry slinked away from the Auburnbrie sisters, rubbing his sore cheek, as he went in the direction he last saw David going in.

The Gryffindor paused, blinking at the stranger. He was about his age, wearing a military uniform of all things, and bristling like a Coeurl fixing to pick a fight, his boots were shiny and black, his uniform was clean and pressed, his hands and fingernails were also clean, and there wasn't a single button or seam out of place. Even his sword-sheath gleamed, shiny, clean, and flawless. Stood in blood and sweat stiffened leathers, with mud up to his thighs, dirt under his nails, across his cheeks, twigs in his hair, and his pistols dented and caked with blood after he used them to club the last of his prey to death, he felt incredibly dirty and small in front of the other teenager who was already close to hitting six foot while Harry had only just reached 5'3”.

He hated him immediately.

“Can I help you?” he asked with forced politeness despite the fact the guy was glaring at him with a face like a slapped arse.

Outrage immediately twisted the other boy's face, his mouth dropping open soundlessly, as if he couldn't believe Harry had the balls to ask such a question. That.... okay, no. Malfoy would _always_ fucking come up to him with that goddamn look on his face, and right now, Harry was entirely too tired and fed up to deal with _another_ up-himself fancy pisspot.

He scoffed and brushed past him, “Whatever. If you're too stupid to figure out what you're fucking saying that isn't my problem,” he dismissed. He had more important things to do, like have a hot bath before he was on shift at the kitchen later.

Suddenly he was being flung to the ground with an angry bellow.

Oh, OH! WELL THEN!

He snarled furiously, and rammed an elbow back into the asshole's stomach, feeling him wheeze and elbowed him _again_ even as he kicked his feet out and rolled out from under him. He didn't even try to regain his feet and lunged for him on all fours – he'd lost his weapons more times than he cared to count when he first started hunting here over a month ago, he knew how to take down things tougher and more armoured than some punk with an _attitude problem. And he'd done it with his bare hands then as well!_

It was not a fight for the ages. It wasn't a battle. It was barely a brawl.

When he looked back on it later he would be embarrassed, but for now, all he cared about was grinding that too clean face into the goddamn mud and hitting everything he could get his hands on as they rolled across the floor and out into the rain. The two of them were little more than a whirling sprawl of kicking, punching, and swearing – Harry was aware of biting and clawing at the asshole more than once but the fucker kept punching him in the kidney again and _again_ and _again_ , so Harry felt it fair play to get a good damn grip on his hair and smash his head into the ground for it. The least he could have was a broken nose if Harry was going to end up pissing blood for the next week!

“HARRY!”

Hands were suddenly yanking him backwards and away. David. He immediately went limp and didn't try to fight him. The guy was like twice his height and three times his weight in muscle alone, Ezma had been training him to be a hunter since he could walk.

“THAT'S ENOUGH!!” the seventeen year old roared, stomping his foot down beside the stranger's head hard enough to stop his furious scramble to his feet in its tracks. “The hell do y'all think yer doin'?” the larger boy demanded glaring down at the boy on the floor, “We don't take kindly to unprovoked attacks 'round these parts, stranger.”

“Unprovoked! He attacked me first!” the teenager roared, scrambling to his feet.

“Fuck you! You attacked _me_ first!” Harry shouted back, lunging against David's grip, and nearly getting choked when the older teen yanked him back and shook him like an errant pup.

“Harry, git yer ass home!”

“Hell no! This psycho attacked me from behind! I'm not leaving you alone with him!” the Gryffindor snapped and then lifted his arms, sliding neatly out of his leather vest where Dave had him scruffed.

The stranger spluttered furiously, “I tried to _help you earlier!_ And you attacked me before running off!” he snarled furiously.

Dave looked at him while Harry froze in abject bewilderment. He had never seen this pillock before in his –

“YOU'RE THAT KILL STEALING PISSPOT!!” he shouted, pointing at his face. Those blue eyes were quite recognisable.

“KILL STEA- YOU WERE FLAILING LIKE YOU WERE HAVING A SEIZURE! IF I HADN'T COME ALONG YOU'D HAVE DIED!” the stranger howled furiously.

Harry was about to laugh directly in his face before Dave's hand slid neatly between them, covering his mouth and pulling him backwards, pinning him firmly against his chest, “Am I t'understand this,” the seventeen year old demanded slowly, “That y'all interfered with an active Hunt in progress?” he asked, glaring at the no longer so fancy stranger who paused, and then stepped back and straightened up. He still looked like he would have loved nothing more than to wrap his hands around Harry's neck and squeeze, but the feeling was hidden as best he could (and it was entirely mutual as well, Harry decided as he glared at him over Dave's hand) as he seemed to realise the gravity of what had occurred earlier and why it was a more sensitive issue than he had previously anticipated.

“Ahem, might I interject?” a second voice interrupted, a smooth deep baritone belonging to someone much older than everyone present. The three teenagers turned to spot one of the fancy city men in front of them, dressed neatly in a shirt, waistcoat, and slacks, wearing a monocle and neat black cornrows. He smiled kindly at the three of them, “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Weskham Armaugh. This young man is one of my companions, Cor Leonis. Might I know your names?”

“No,” Harry snapped through Dave's hand, and was ignored.

“David Auburnbrie, Mister Armaugh, an' this here is Harry Potter, m'Aunt's charge,” Dave introduced flatly, eyeing the two of them distrustfully, keeping one hand pressed over Harry's mouth, and the other on his upper arm.

“A pleasure, you seem like fine young men,” Mister Armaugh said, and he even seemed _honest_ about it, and while Dave seemed to take him at face value, Harry gave him the look he felt that comment deserved. Honestly, how stupid did he think they were? These poor uneducated _dirty_ country bumpkins? What an asshole. The man's mouth twitched in amusement when he got a look at Harry's face, “I must apologise for my companion's actions earlier,” he explained, lifting a hand as Leonis opened his mouth to protest, looking outraged, almost immediately the teenager bit back whatever he was going to say and scowled down at his boots. “He mistakenly believed Mister Potter to be a civilian in need of assistance. Unfortunately we are largely unfamiliar with the fine work of the Hunters being from Insomnia as we are. No insult was meant, I assure you,” he promised.

Harry bit the inside of Dave's hand, pinching the tender skin between his fingers and making him yelp and yank his hand away, “That doesn't explain why he attacked me just now!” he snapped, “Do people from Insomnia regularly tackle people from behind when they're walking away?”

“Cor just doesn't know how to talk to pretty boys, don't hold it against him!” a third voice declared, snickering.

“Your Highness! I do not!” Leonis protested hotly, scowling even as his face turned dark red.

Harry bristled, “' _Pretty_ '?!” he echoed sharply.

“Er, handsome?” the new stranger in an even fancier black pinstripe suit suggested awkwardly, scratching at three days of beard growth on his cheek, looking a little at a loss. Gods, his magic felt weird. Harry grimaced and looked him up and down, aside from himself and Kimya, this was the only other person in Lucis he had encountered with magic so far. He wasn't impressed. Not only was the guy's magic weird and kinda warped, his facial hair was ugly too.

“What are you supposed to be, a shitty mafia cosplayer?” he demanded flatly instead of any comments on his weird-ass magic.

The man's mouth dropped open in shock, the two men behind him burst out laughing, Mister Armaugh coughed into a gloved hand to hide his own amusement, and Leonis immediately dropped into a stance and reached for his sword hilt – Harry bristled and would have done the same only Dave chose that moment to suddenly hoist him up over his shoulder.

“OI!”

“Apologies, Yer Royal Highness,” Dave said with a bow, looking worried, “Harry i'n't from Lucis – _or Niflheim!_ ” he added quickly spotting the alarm that crossed their faces, “He's – I'll take 'im home now. I'm sorry.”

Harry huffed as Dave took him to Kimya's cottage.

He froze, stiffening as he spotted Leonis smirking smugly in amusement as he was carted off like a sack of potatoes. This Kingdom for his fucking _wand_! One – solid – hex! A tickling charm! Anything! Even an Aguamenti on top of his ugly head. For lack of any suitable weapons he gripped the back of Dave's leathers, slid backwards, and swung his foot forward under the seventeen year old's arm as hard as he could.

It was beautiful. His filthy muddy soaking wet boot nailed the asshole full in the face.

He shot the shit-whistle the middle finger, grinning maliciously as the door closed in front of him, and his boot hit the floor.

 

* * *

 

Kimya laughed herself sick when she heard everything, Ezma wanted to tan his backside for being so disrespectful to a member of the Prince's Retinue – at least until Dave stuck up for him and told her what happened, specifically that Leonis attacked Harry from behind as he was walking away. Harry had been particularly unapologetic about it all, viciously informing her that the guy wasn't _his_ Prince, so why should he treat someone who had the good fortune to be born into that particular family any differently than he would anyone else?

“The Lucis Caelums' have magic blessed onto them by Bahamut himself, their right to rule is divine,” Ezma explained, rubbing her eyes in aggravation.

“His magic is fucking weird, is what it is,” Harry scoffed unhappily, “I like Kimya's magic more.” Hers felt like summer sunshine, yellow flowers, and healing rain. She wasn't strong, but she had the power to _boost_ other magic users, she was a support to them. The Prince's magic felt..... weird. Wrong. Like half of it wasn't his, or.... half of it was _missing_.

“Aww, that's kind of you to say,” the elder of the sisters chuckled, stroking his hair, grinning as he wavered between leaning into it and batting her hands away.

Ezma groaned, rubbing her face, “It isn't a matter of whose magic you prefer, boy!! They are blessed by the Gods themselves, you should show them respect!”

Harry folded his arms and arched an eyebrow at her, “And how do you know my magic wasn't?” he asked lightly, “Or your sister's? Does the fact that we have magic make us royalty too?”

Ezma slammed a fist onto the table, “Ya know tha' isn't wha' I meant!” she roared red faced and furious. She snatched her hand up, clenching her fist and screwing her face up as she visibly forced herself back under control, and relaxed, her breath wooshing out in one gust and pointed him in the face, “Tomorrow, they're going up t'the Myrlwood. T'the Royal Tomb. You'll be their guide, boy, and y'all can apologise while yer at it!” she added, raising her voice when Harry opened his mouth to argue.

“I'm not even local!” the Gryffindor protested.

“But y'all are the only one that's been prowlin' that there basin recently,” Ezma snapped, “Meanin' yer the only tour guide we got. And y'all _will_ escort them boys t'the best o'yer ability, _right?_ ” she demanded dangerously, her dusty brown eyes narrowing on him.

He growled, “Fine. But I'm not apologising.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Kimya cooked him a big breakfast and Harry not only refilled his bullet magazines and bought extras, but he also got some replacement leathers as his current set were drying in Kimya's living room smelling an awful lot sweeter than they had the day before. So that left him dressed in his only other set of clothing, what he wore to the Ministry of Magic the night he arrived in Eos – not including his worn out sneakers, or his now singular boot. Both of which had been worn flat and were full of holes. He'd bought himself a new pair of boots the day before he went out to deal with the mushussu hunt, but knowing those bastards had those nasty ass barbs he had opted against wearing his new pair since they would slice through the leather and rubber like butter.

He met the city boys at the petrol station, fighting to keep his face neutral when Creepy Magic lit up at the sight of him, and Ass Face grimaced with great dislike.

“Why are you here?” Ass Face demanded in ugly tones.

It was difficult, but Harry ignored him, he pointedly let his eyes pass over him as if he weren't even there before looking up at Creepy Magic who had the expression of a little boy at Christmas. “Ezma asked me to accompany you. Ready to make a move? Myrlwood is a seven hour hike from here at a jog, and there isn't an actual road near by,” he explained politely.

“The Regalia can handle off road,” one of the other men declared in a Southern drawl, Harry tilted his head noting that he was actually the oldest of the group, wearing oily jeans, decent boots, and a denim jacket.

He nodded, “If you say so, sir,” he said, deciding that he probably knew more about the car than he did and he'd just have to take his word for it.

The man folded his arms and grinned at him with something like approval, “She only seats five, so y'all'll be takin' my spot in 'er. Make sure these lunk 'eads don't mess 'er up,” he requested seriously. Harry frowned at him, was this guy being condescending to him on purpose? He was fifteen, not five, and somehow he got the impression that these people, Ass Face excepted, didn't need some teenager to keep them in line.

“Riiight, I'll see what I can do, sir.” He turned to Creepy Magic, “My name's Harry, I use guns.”

“Regis, and I can use just about anything,” Creepy Magic declared amiably with a friendlier smile than the Gryffindor would have expected from not only someone who was royalty, but had also witnessed Harry get into a knock down drag out fight in the mud with one of his own Retinue.

“Clarus, shield and broadsword, leave the heavy lifting to me,” the biggest of the group announced with a polite nod. Harry nodded back to him, refusing to let himself be intimidated by the man's bulk because he had to have at least a foot on Uncle Vernon and weighed probably the same _in just muscle_. The tattoo was awesome though, some kind of bird.

“Name's Cid, I'm the mechanic on retainer fer this one,” the old geezer declared with a negligent jerk of a thumb at Regis who grinned fondly at him, not in the least bit insulted at the treatment.

“I believe we met yesterday, Mister Potter, but just in case, you may call me Weskham. Much like yourself I favour the use of pistols,” the neat gentleman who interrupted Dave's dressing down of Ass Face yesterday greeted with a polite bow of his head and shoulders.

“Call me Harry, you sound like one of my Professors when you call me Mister Potter,” the Gryffindor requested with a grimace, swallowing back against the homesickness that suddenly fisted itself into his guts.

“As you wish, Harry,” the man said agreeably before looking pointedly at Ass Face who's expression soured even further.

“Cor Leonis. Sword,” he capitulated with about as much grace as a cranky toddler.

There was a moment of silence where the adults clearly expected him to say more, but he stubbornly sealed his mouth shut and it was with sighs of amusement and disapproval that the group shook their heads and began to climb into the car, Weskham asking Harry to take the front seat with him so as to direct them.

It was.... like sitting in Uncle Vernon's mercedes when it was brand new and he was still small. Butter soft leather seating, fastidiously clean interiors, shiny chrome, and polished trimmings. Harry grimaced as he belted himself in, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, half expecting to hear his Uncle's voice barking at him not to touch anything and that if he got it dirty he would be in the cupboard for a month eating nothing but stale dog biscuits. He really did feel too dirty to be allowed in such a nice car, and he fought not to grimace at the thought of all the mud that awaited them in the Myrlwood that they would later be getting all over the place.

“There's no need to look so apprehensive,” Weskham chuckled as he slid into the driver's seat, an odd look on his face as he glanced at him.

Harry hummed quietly, making no comment as he set his durandal between his knees and shifted the belts of its scabbard where they weren't going to get in the way. It was so weird to sit like this, drivers were usually sat on the right-side of the car in Harry's experience, Eos must use a more american styled highway system than he was used to. He could feel the car dipping and rocking from side to side as everyone else climbed in and Weskham keyed the ignition, starting it with a, even to his inexperienced and uncaring ear, lovely purr. Not a dick-waving throaty roar like some cars he'd heard bombing around London and Surrey.

“What can you tell us about the Myrlwood?” Weskham eventually asked as they pulled away from the petrol station and drove the short distance away into the tunnel.

Harry hummed, “Not much to tell. It's a forest same as many others. The canopy is fairly thick, so not a lot of light gets through. Very close quarters. There's a narrow passage that leads into the thicket, it'll be full of giant wasps. The deeper in we get the more mushussu we'll see, I hope you have a lot of antidotes, they have poisonous barbs. Then there's the weird monkey-tree things, I don't know what they are but they hit hard and fast. There's another path in the thicket which is where I think your Tomb is, I haven't gone all the way into it but there is a haven there next to a waterfall. And something _big_ further in. I didn't want to risk tangling with it on my own,” he explained bluntly as they drove, “Turn right at the end of the tunnel. There's a dirt path down to the water-front. It's wide enough for the car, but it isn't easy driving. There's a parking space next to the haven at the fishing shack at the bottom of the hill.”

“Something big further in?” Clarus echoed thoughtfully.

Harry nodded, “Yeah. Never heard anything like it, and since night was falling I didn't want to stick around. I only went in to find a tag,” he admitted with a grimace. He never did find it, chances were it got swallowed, or it was further in past the big bastard.

There was a shuffle behind him and then Creepy Magic was leaning over the back of his seat to peer down at him. He opened his mouth to say something only to blink down in astonishment, “I didn't know the Regalia had seat belts!” he blurted in surprise. He ignored the groans of annoyance from his retinue as he shook his surprise off and grinned at Harry, “So, if you're not from Niflheim, or Lucis, does that mean you're from Tenebrae? I mean, you have the accent!”

He leaned away from the man in discomfort, “No. I-what do you mean, accent?” he asked, deflecting desperately, but also _offended_ for completely unfathomable reasons. He did _not_ have an accent! That was everyone else!

Creepy Magic laughed, “You have a Tenebraean accent.”

“No I don't!” he protested hotly, scowling up at the twenty year old.

“You have an accent, moron!” Ass Face snapped from behind them.

It was so childish, so _infantile_ , and most definitely the kind of thing he would have been too embarrassed to say back in Hogwarts, but he ended up snapping: “No, _you_ have an accent!”

Ass Face kicked the back of his chair, “I live here! I don't have an accent, _you_ do!”

“Now, now, boys!” Weskham called even as Creepy Magic turned in place and did something that had Ass face yelping and then squawking in teenage indignity and then outright horror. “There is no need for arguing. The world is a big place,” he scolded gently as they came out of the tunnel, flashing his indicators before he made the right hand turning onto the dirt track that would lead down towards the waterfront.

Harry grumbled, slouching in his seat, gripping his sword tightly, “-sound nothing like Cid,” he muttered under his breath.

Creepy Magic came back, leaning over his shoulder, “Ezma said you came here often, it's a very pretty place, but why the attachment?” the man asked peering over towards the murky coloured lake and the distant vine covered ruins that covered the northern shore.

“There's no _people_ ,” he grunted pointedly, glancing at the man from the corner of his eye and scowling when all he received was a startled laugh of delight. Great, a happy go lucky type of man. He grumbled in disgust as he turned to look out of the window.

“No, really, why here?” Creepy Magic asked, “...Are you waiting for someone?” he asked almost gently.

He didn't answer for a moment before shrugging a shoulder, “Yes. My godfather. He – he'll come for me. Eventually. Just.... gotta find me first.”

“What happened?” Clarus asked from directly behind him.

He had been running through the Department of Mysteries and took a curse to the back, he would bet his Firebolt that it was a Confundus, but he didn't know. The next thing he knew was he was struggling to open a door, there was a bright blue-white light, and then he was floating face to face with Dragon Dick. But he couldn't say that. It would raise too many questions, reveal too much, and in all honestly, he didn't HAVE to tell these people his entire fucking life story, they had no right to that information and he was _tired_ of everyone thinking his business was theirs by default. Fuck that.

“Don't know,” he lied shortly, “I just.... Hit the lake. Crawled out onto shore and Kimya found me just before dark wandering around without a clue of where I was,” he admitted. That at least was true. It was sheer luck that stopped him from drowning then and there, he managed to flail his way to shore where he crawled up onto the mud, and that armoured asshole threw a sword down in front of him. If Harry had taken it, it would have bound him into the asshole's service until he killed whoever it was the asshole wanted him to. So Harry left it there, in the mud, cursing him out about how he didn't even know how to use the fucking thing, and walked to where he could see an actual fucking road up ahead. It had been his good fortune to meet Kimya before night fell, she had been strengthening the protections on the Menace Dungeon beneath Steyliff Grove, empowering the fading magic of the Oracle that sacrificed her life to seal it shut. She took Harry back to Meldacio and told him everything he needed to know, never questioning or second guessing anything he had to tell her. He had no doubt she knew exactly what he told her was true, and what was lie, but she didn't push and for that he was thankful. Now if only her _sister_ were so understanding....

“Likely story,” Ass Face grumbled, and then grunted as Creepy Magic jerked a little and the meaty thud of a shoe hitting someone's shin could be heard.

Weskham sighed deeply as they pulled in to a stop at a small patch of grass on the opposite side of the road to the haven outside the fishing shack Harry mentioned before.

The Gryffindor grit his teeth and unbelted himself before slipping out of the car, fingers itching to do something violent to that Ass Face but he controlled himself – just about, as the rest of the group climbed out of the car and made ready their weapons.

Harry set the pace at a steady jog, he wanted to be done with this within the day, _unfortunately that wasn't going to happen._ He ended up having to come to a stop in order to wait for the idiot city boys and their fancy leather _business shoes_ that had absolutely no tread or grip to speak of catch up to him in the wet grass and mud. Both Regis and Weskham were slipping and sliding in the thick rain-logged mud as they tried to keep up, having been forced to vanish their weapons to whatever place they kept them in order to keep their balance. Clarus was fine, he'd worn what looked like pretty decent steel-toecaps so he was easily able to keep up with whatever pace Harry set, though he stubbornly remained in the rear to protect his Prince.

Harry exchanged a Look with Ass Face, the only one that managed to keep pace with him, who looked just as disgusted with the city boys as he felt.

Then they both realised who they were commiserating with, scowled, and turned away from each other pointedly.

The two teenagers lead the way, ignoring each other as best they could, Harry slightly in front with Cor who was following while trying to make it seem as much of a coincidence as possible that they were heading in the same direction as each other, and trying stubbornly not to let Harry get too far ahead of him. Thankfully neither Regis nor Weskham were unfit even if their footwear was moronic, neither of them were panting or sweating or even out of breath by the time they reached the narrow passage cut into the rock face that lead into the Myrlwood where the two teenagers were stood in stubborn silence waiting for them, small mercies.

“Might want to draw weapons now,” Harry announced once they reached him, withdrawing one of his Quicksilvers, he wanted to keep one hand empty for now, just in case. It _had_ rained recently, and the hike through to the thicket was slightly up-hill. Not to mention the actual wood itself being made up primarily of broken ground and hillocks, he would need the spare hand to climb if nothing else.

He turned on heel, fighting against the urge to flinch as he heard the sound of shattering crystal behind him as weapons were retrieved from whatever magical aether they had been stored in previously, and marched into the passage without a backwards glance. Either they were ready or they could catch up when they were. It wasn't like there was more than one path until they hit the main wood.

He took out the first wasp he saw with a headshot, and carried on walking past the corpse with only a mild shudder. What the fuck kind of messed up planet had wasps the size of frickin' Hippogriffs? A really nasty one, that was for sure. He had yet to run into any giant spiders, and he hoped for his blood pressure that he never did. It was bad enough walking into Aragog's nest and he didn't even _have_ a problem with spiders, but that didn't mean he wanted to deal with whatever kind of spiders a world like _this_ would fucking have. Knowing his luck they'd make Shelob seem like perfectly polite fine dining company.

The second, third, and forth met the same fate.

Weskham coughed politely behind him, “I see now why Madam Auburnbrie spoke so highly of your skill,” he complimented.

Harry scoffed, “Ezma? Somehow I doubt that,” he dismissed with both amusement and scorn. Ezma was of the opinion Kimya should have left him to get eaten by the daemons, or at least carted him to the haven instead of Meldacio where he wouldn't become their problem.

The man hemmed and hawed, “You may very well be surprised, young man, you may very well be surprised,” he said.

“My surprises are very rarely pleasant,” Harry grumbled under his breath as he shot another wasp from the air and gave its twitching corpse a wide berth, he made the mistake of getting close to what he believed was a downed enemy once, he wasn't going to make it twice. Not without a solid headshot before hand.

Like right now for instance. There were not usually this many wasps in the forest. Typically he only had to deal with mushussu and the weird tree bastards, and if it were after dark the daemons. The wasps tended to stick to the rocks just outside the wood – the boughs here were too close in for them to fly freely, there just wasn't enough space for them. Which begged the question of why they were down here? Unless it was breeding season or something? It was the height of summer when Harry left the Earth, but early spring when he arrived in Eos.

“What's that sound?” Ass Face whispered as they crept through the undergrowth carefully.

Harry listened carefully and grimaced, hunting team. He glanced around them for another route, it would however involve climbing. He looked over to Weskham and Regis and their _definitely not fit for climbing shoes_. Looked like this trip wasn't going to be fast, at all.

“Hunting pair. Those tree fuckers band together to attack other fiends,” he explained in an undertone as he readied his gun, “They do it for fun,” he added because he had never seen them actually _eat_ their kills, and they didn't seem to have any specifically set territory that he'd witnessed. They just.... liked killing things.

“Mandrakes,” Ass Face announced as he slithered back to them through the undergrowth, he shot Harry a disbelieving look of scorn, “Nothing to be concerned about.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Say that again when three of them are trying to take a chunk outta your ass. I'll wait,” he muttered with great aggravation.

“Weakling. Stay at the back if you're too much of a coward to – ” Ass Face sneered

“I will leave you here for the daemons you – ” Harry began heatedly.

“Boys!” Weskham interrupted stringently, getting the two to back off from each other with a great deal of reluctance, and ill will. Regis snickering at them did not help. “Please focus. We don't have enough daylight to be bickering like this,” he scolded mildly. Ass Face folded his arms and scowled, while Harry swallowed back the sting of shame with annoyance because this man literally meant nothing to him and had absolutely no right in trying to make him feel ashamed of himself.

“Then keep your pet monkey on a better leash,” he snapped and had barely a split second before Ass Face rammed into him with all the force of a bludger with a vendetta.

Clarus snatched both of them by the scruffs of their necks, and shook them violently. “Enough! Both of you had better pack it in and start behaving, or you'll be sent out to sit in the damn car,” he hissed fighting to keep his tone level.

“Stop treating me like a damn child, Clarus!” Ass Face snarled, and got another shake for his tone.

“Then stop acting like it,” the big man commanded grimly before looking at Harry, “And you?”

He folded his arms, dangling from the broadsword user's grip without issue, eyebrow arched, “If he wasn't using his ass as a mouth-piece we wouldn't be having this conversation. Clean your own house before you start bugging people about theirs,” he dismissed, feeling a weird savage kind of glee at actually using one of Petunia's favourite bitchy take-downs. “I've done nothing but respond to the hostility thrown my way, and I refuse to be _walked all-over,_ ” he hissed before reaching up and digging a thumb into what he knew was a pressure point on the big guy's wrist. He yelped as his hand spasmed and Harry jerked his way to freedom landing with a thud on the grass and crab-stepping well out of arms reach of another grab.

And that was when the undergrowth attacked him.

Yells went up as he was ploughed to one side, one of the tree-bastards tackling him to the ground and knocking the breath out of him, possibly cracking a rib in the process. It didn't get the chance to do anything else before Clarus shield barged it off him, shunting it directly into the path of both Regis and Ass Face whose split it into three with two precise sword strikes.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Weskham asked, immediately beside him, gun out, and his hand reaching for his shoulder.

His chest felt like it was on _fire_.

“Fine,” he grit out, refusing to admit to a weakness in front of these up themselves bastards. He knocked the older man's hand away from his shoulder and pushed himself to his feet, ignoring how the action immediately made him want to vomit. He took a deep breath as if he could flatten the churning in his stomach with the force of it – all it did was make his chest hurt more. “Thank you,” he stated simply to the others. As pissed off as he was with this whole situation, he did have manners.

Ass Face opened his ass _hole_ , and promptly got smacked upside the head by Clarus, forcing him to close it with an irritated hiss as he pitched forward from the force of it. And then pick his hat up from the floor. Huh. He was blond. That explained _so fucking much_. Not the platinum blond that Malfoy had, or the dirty blonde of Luna, but more of a tawny brown-blond like Neville.

Which irritated him more than it should have simply because of the reminder. And now he missed his _friends_ too.

Luna would have loved this place. Malfoy would have been eaten the first night. Neville would have been up to his elbows in every patch of mud he could find, exclaiming over all the plants in delight – never mind the mandrakes, he would have loved to examine them and compare the differences between the native Eos creature and the Earth creature.

He took a deep breath, grimacing a little in pain, and pushed his thoughts aside. Myrlwood was not the place to be getting maudlin. Hell, the whole Vesper-Basin was a bad place to get maudlin unless you had solid blessed stone underfoot.

“This way. If we go directly straight from this hillock south-west, we'll get to the crevice,” he explained as he took the lead once more, pulling one of his small hunting knives from the attachment sheath on his gun holster. The next one of those bastards to land on him was getting it in the eye.

The forest itself wasn't all that confusing, on a bright day like this it was fairly easy to navigate. But it was in the rain, or the fog, or the dark that it became a nightmare of twists and turns and fiends that could quite easily do away with even the most skilled of hunters. Harry couldn't say he had ever _had_ that problem, even on the mornings when the fog was so thick he couldn't even see his _hand_ in front of his face – a thankfully rare occurrence Kimya told him on the rare occasion she was able to sneak out of Meldacio. But he knew he had a very good sense of direction, it was why he rarely got lost in Hogwarts once he knew where where something was in the castle. Dean said he had a bird's sense of direction, Seamus just scoffed and said he was good at remembering the way.

He lead the group of four easily into the natural crevice in the stone, not putting up an argument when Clarus grabbed his shoulder and reeled him back in to the centre of the group, but he did roll his eyes hard enough to physically hurt.

They dealt with the small party of mandrakes at the crossroads and that was where they decided to take a short break at the haven for food – it had been a four hour hike since they left the regalia afterall and it was pushing lunchtime now.

Harry ignored them as they made cooking equipment and utensils appear out of thin air and sat himself down at the pier, far away so they could sort themselves out without him getting underfoot. Kimya had been kind enough to pack some of their breakfast left-overs into a pair of bread rolls for him. He unwrapped one and dug in, watching the fish swimming around in the spring, listening to the people behind him and the roar of the falls in front as he calculated how much longer this was going to take. It had been three and a half hours to get here, another half-hour to get through the undergrowth, and it was lunch time now. Chances were, once they finished lunch, they would go and deal with whatever was up ahead, and come back. If it was a fiend anyway. Some daemons could survive sunlight, and linger after the sun rose – he imagined the oldest/strongest of them could survive the sun indefinitely until the night returned and they could recover themselves.

They were going to have to stay the night at Capitis Haven, because there was no way Harry was going to let these suicidal city boys drive him through Vesper at _night_ carrying two frickin' magical beacons. That was just _asking_ for trouble.

“Are you hung- oh, my, you are prepared,” Weskham's voice exclaimed in surprised pleasure, making him nearly drop his breakfast roll into the water.

Harry whipped around to glare at him, only to blink in confusion at the _plate_ of _milk poached salmon_ and green salad being presented to him. He could smell mixed spices and lemon zest wafting from the plate and then looked up at the man in abject bewilderment, he then peered around him to see that everyone _else_ had their meals in hand. Did they have some kind of argument and now the guy wanted to sit over here to eat? Or was this some attempt at gaining information from the only person that had yet to piss him off (if he stayed prying, he was _gunna_ )?

Confused, he shifted to one side to give the man space to sit, only he didn't. “Room for a little more? I made some for you too,” he pointed out, making him pause in the act of raising his roll back up.

“Wait, you made me food too?” he asked absolutely bewildered.

Weskham's expression twisted with his own confusion for a moment, “Why wouldn't I, Mister Potter? You have graciously taken time out of your day to aid us, placed your health and wellbeing on the line to guide us through dangerous territory – ”

He scoffed, “From what I saw, I think you guys would have had it in hand. It'd have just taken a whole lot longer. And it wasn't willing. Ezma threatened to throw me out,” he stated flatly, making the man pause and then frown in disapproval.

“Hm, I apologise, we mentioned need of a guide but had we known she would force – consider it part and parcel of your assistance. Unwilling it may have been, while you travel with us, you are as much in our care as we are in yours. And I like to make sure my companions are well fed and comfortable,” he explained proudly before setting the plate down beside him.

“I – I don't have anything to share with you though,” he admitted alarmed and now flustered. They weren't friends, situations like this were fair-trade and everything.

He chuckled, “Your honest opinion would be wonderful. I am always looking for ways to improve my craft,” he admitted before making his way back to the rest of the group, leaving Harry with the plate and its delicious smelling contents.

Scowling suspiciously, he looked down at his roll and the plate before rewrapping the roll. He abhorred wasting food, and if his estimation of these people was correct, they would not accept it if he tried to return it. And if it wasn't eaten soon, then it would spoil. Sighing, he took the fork that had been helpfully provided as well, eyeing the pretty designs pressed into the metal – into the _silver_ he realised with some incredulity. These guys were seriously bringing along the _silverware_ on a camping trip?

“Fucking royalty,” he muttered under his breath, “Unbelievable.”

And then he took a mouthful, the scowl on his face slipping away in sheer surprise.

It was good. It was _really_ , _really_ good.

It was only because he had been cooking for his relatives for so long that he was even able to examine the blend of flavours melting over his tongue as he ate, salt, pepper, parsley, dill, a hint of onion and shallots, and, not even the faint zing of lemon juice could hide the undercurrent of saffron, or the slightly off-taste Eos variant they had here. Add to the salad greens, it took the slight bitterness out of the leaves and brought the whole thing together.

He kept eating, trying to find a fault, or think of a means of improvement, but kept running into the problem of not knowing the ingredients that went into the dish – was it even salmon? He didn't know if salmon even existed in this world. Never mind parsley. He could _taste_ it, or something similar to it.

He finished his plate, licking his lips as he contemplated the flavour before he dragged his handkerchief from his pocket and dunked the plate into the lake to clean it up. Rubbing away sauce, a few scraps of fish and green, and the scant bones from the fillet, before he wiped away the remnants from the cutlery. Depending on what flavour Weskham was aiming for, maybe he could change the poaching to a white-wine and salted water mix instead of milk? He would have to experiment his own he decided as he got to his feet and returned to the rest of the group who had piled up their own plates and were relaxing on camping chairs with drinks.

Weskham smiled when he came over, “I see you enjoyed it. Oh, thank you,” he said as Harry set his clean plate and cutlery down on the small fold-out table. “What did you think?” he asked.

Harry hummed, “Good. Really good. Have you tried doing it with wine?” he asked curiously as he collected up the dirty dishes.

“I must admit, I had not. I would have thought it spoiled with the milk,” the chef admitted.

“Well, it would. But there are other ways to poach fish,” he pointed out absently as he made his way to the water's edge.

“You can leave those to me – ”

“Chef never does the dishes,” Harry refused flatly, “Rule one of camping, along with Driver chooses the music and shotgun shuts his cake hole.” If anyone said anything in response to his words, he didn't hear it as he carted all the dirty dishes to the edge of the lake and began to clean them up, it was something nice and mindless for him to do as he tried to shove down yet more homesickness. Just contemplating the differences in the ingredients, the slightly off tastes, and how he couldn't even discuss cooking with someone – couldn't talk about something he had been doing since he was six years old. It made something sick turn over in his stomach, made his skin shivery, and his eyes sting. He didn't feel much like talking to them anymore, or deal with Ass Face in any capacity (thinking about it, what even was his name?).

As soon as he finished them they burst into crystalline light, making him squawk and yank his hands back to the amusement of everyone behind him.

He scowled, “Very funny,” he grumbled throwing his soggy handkerchief at them. Clarus snorted as he caught it out of the air, with a twist of his wrist it too vanished into crystalline light, making Harry's eyes narrow. “I want that back when we get back to Meldacio,” he told him, pointing seriously before he brushed his hands off on his jeans to dry them. “You ready?”

“Waiting on you to stop fussing over dirty plates more like,” Ass Face grumbled, drawing a dull glare from Harry.

“Well excuse me for having fucking manners,” he retorted coldly before turning and marching back into the narrow crevice path as he drew his guns once again.

The shuddering roar up ahead made him pause, and slow, looking over his shoulder to the others to make sure they were following close. The looks of wary realisation on their faces was gratifying. Yes, you stupid city brats, he _did_ actually know what he was talking about when he said there was something too big for him to risk tangling with on his own, thank you for finally realising that. He knew he had made something of a poor showing on this trip, but that did not mean he was wrong, thank you.

Slowly, he crept forward into the small gap at the top of a winding path down to a fairly large clearing. He crouched, watching and feeling the others coming up behind him to cluster and peer down into the clearing. He grimaced as he got a look at what they were dealing with. It looked like the bastard love-child of a thornbush, a T-rex, and the personification of PMS rage, it was even _steaming_ as it rolled itself around in the shallow pools of water, revealing a soft underbelly free of spikes and spines that gouged deep furrows into the muddy earth.

“Bandersnatch,” Ass Face summed up grimly, “I'd rank it... thirties, upper end,” he decided quietly, eyeing the fiend with sharp blue eyes.

Regis nodded slowly, “Weaknesses?” he asked, apparently deciding to defer to the teenager about the creature in question. Harry silently wondered if Ass Face was their combat encyclopedia and that was why he was travelling with them.

“Lightning and polearms,” he stated flatly. None of them wielded a spear, unbeknownst to Harry, that was Cid's purview when he decided to go in for close-combat. Ass Face cast a glance his way with a frown before looking back down at the fiend, and then back up to the rest of the group, “...Bandersnatch hit hard and fast, they use sweeping attacks so splitting is our best bet, the clearing doesn't offer much space, but it does offer some cover. Weskham and him should stay up high, take shots when you can and if it looks to come up your way, withdraw into the canyon. If it follows, it won't be able to turn around until that junction – we can target it from behind. Your Highness should warp it from this point, Clarus and I will go down into the clearing to back you up. Your Highness is the most manoeuvrable, strike from every angle possible, keep it turning. Clarus and I will stay close to its legs to trip it.” He rubbed his chin, looking down at the quietly steaming creature as it sat in its muddy puddle and seemingly dosed. “Try and take its tendons out. When it falls that'll give us access to the soft-spot beneath the jaw between the mandibles.”

Harry nodded slowly, it was a good plan. He stared down at the seemingly docile creature, it was perhaps the ugliest fucker he'd seen so far on Eos, and he included some of the daemons he had encountered here in the basin. “Where are the eyes on that thing?” he asked, peering down the small cliff.

There was a small crunch of rock, and he tried not to tense up when Ass Face got into his personal space. “There. See the foremost tooth? The eyes will be on that primary ridge, several inches up,” he detailed, “They should be easy to spot, they're blue on red.”

Easy. Yeah. For someone with twenty-twenty vision. Harry lost his glasses the day he arrived here. They were probably on some Sahagin's snout somewhere, or a Vespergar had swallowed them whole. But he did see the slight change of colour.

“I see it. Who strikes first?” he asked.

Ass Face rocked back on his heels to consider it, glancing to the others before shaking his head, “If you can take out the eye, you first. After we have its attention, His Highness will move first while you draw its attention, then he can strike from behind. When he has its attention, Clarus and I can descend to the clearing to back him.”

“A fine plan,” Weskham agreed.

“Let's make it happen then,” Clarus agreed, summoning his broadsword to hand.

“Yes. Let's,” Harry agreed slowly, and took aim.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight scene can happen in the next chapter. Happy Birthday to me, I wanted to update before midnight. So now I'm going to go to bed and sleep and hopefully have good dreams.
> 
> 1/ Salmon in Eos: Harry hasn't left Meldacio or Vesper since his arrival, he doesn't know about Kenny Crow just yet.  
> 2/ Bandersnatch instead of Treant: In the bestiary entry for the treant, it states that it is an ANCIENT creature that only woke because someone hurt it. Ergo, for it to be there when Noctis and co rock up thirty years from present, it can't be the big nasty currently lurking in front of the Queen's tomb. Instead I gave that to a bandersnatch as they're canonly known to enjoy a bit of a paddle in water, and they seem to like enclosed spaces (i.e. that depression in Leide, the clearing in Malmalam, and now here where I put it).  
> 3/ Cor being combat control: He is canonly stated to be a genius when it comes to combat as a child. Hence why he's taking charge now, he's got a shit temper, but he knows his stuff when it comes to fiends, daemons, weapons, and tactics. That is, I figure, his primary role amidst the group during this roadtrip. Outside of being Regis' court jester and another bullet shield/swordarm.


	3. Chapter 3

He would like it to be known, that he hated Bandersnatches, and that this? This had not been part of any plan he envisioned, or hoped for. Because this?

Was bullshit.

“WHY – WON'T – YOU – DIE?!!” the Gryffindor screamed, orichalcum dagger stabbing, stabbing, _stabbing, STABBING_ , to no effect on the spiky horned head of the fiend even as it felt like his other arm, shirt-sleeves and bracers trapped and entangled on barbed horns, felt like it was going to be ripped out of its socket by the violent thrashing of the creature as everyone laid into it.

The fight had been going well.

Harry had made his headshot, nailing the beast directly in the eye, and making it screech and blast itself out with steam as it thrashed and writhed. Regis did some weird kind of light-apparation to its face and stabbed it up before apparating to the otherside of the clearing, dropping down, and then lashing out at its tail, making the half-blind incredibly pissed off fiend turn in place and go for him.

Ass Face and Clarus jumped down the small cliff incline while Regis darted away, giving them time to get down into the clearing before Weskham and Harry opened fire again, giving the Prince time to apparate out of the line of fire, and the other two to get in between the fiend's legs and start slashing and stabbing. The fiend shrieked and staggered, and then rammed itself into the cliff – and the rock beneath Harry's feet crumbled.

He hit the ground hard, feet first, and pitched forward, falling _onto_ the bandersnatch's head where he promptly found himself being _flicked_ skyward with a furious toss of the creature's head. Good thing he was used to mid-air manoeuvres. He twisted in the air, aiming to come down on its back and jump back off onto the cliff. It would have worked quite nicely too, if it hadn't shook itself like an angry dog – and the hooked barbs at the back of its crown of horns snagged on his bracers. That was when _Harry_ panicked, and began to unload all of his bullets into the back of the thing's armoured skull. And when he ran out of bullets, drew his dagger and looked to open its skull up the hard way – his durandal completely impossible to reach, or wield in his current position.

He felt it the second his shoulder dislocated. It was the exact moment that the fiend's legs went out from under it and he was launched into the air – arm still attached – and came down _hard_ as it hit the ground.

His feet couldn't touch the ground, he was dangling off the thing's back by his tangled bracers and dislocated shoulder. It felt like the worst pulled muscle in existence, only everything was loose and wrong and felt painful and _weird_. He flinched from the sound of shattering crystal above his head, and then yelped as with a single movement his bracer was sliced off, and he _dropped_.

Clarus caught him, and it was like his ears popped and suddenly he could hear everyone around him.

“You alright kid?” the big broadsword wielder was asking as he carefully set him back on his feet, but didn't let go just yet.

“Harry!” Weskham was shouting from over at the cliffs as he hurried down, going as fast as his shiny city shoes would allow.

“ – heard his shoulder pop, definitely dislocated,” Ass Face was announcing at his otherside, scowling at him as if it were his fault.

“ – put it back in before – administering any potions,” Regis agreed, his words hitching as he apparated back to the rest of them.

Harry shook his head, and batted Clarus's hands away, “I'm fine!” he grunted, “Stop fussing!”

“You were thrown around like a ragdoll!” Regis protested hotly, “A little fussing is warranted, I should think!”

The Gryffindor rolled his eyes, this was hardly his first dislocated shoulder. You do it once, you kind of have a running risk of doing it more often, and the first time Dudley did it, he found it funny so you could imagine how many times Harry had been forced to deal with it without a trip to the emergency room that would have outed the Dursleys' abysmal parenting to the system. And anything that could speak poorly of their precious Dudders was kept well hidden.

Without waiting for anyone to say anything, he dropped his dagger (shifting a foot so he didn't lose any toes) and, using his loose arm, he reached up and behind his head for his opposite shoulder, causing the joint to _audibly_ pop back into place, but to the shock and disgust of everyone present as they froze in disbelief.

He circled his arm with a grimace because, that was going to bruise and ache for a while. “This is hardly the first time, and it won't be the last time I dislocate my shoulder. Stop fussing, please,” he added almost gently before gesturing to the stone mausoleum behind them, “Besides, don't you have more important things to be doing?” he asked plainly, rubbing his hands and tucking them behind his back so no one would see how badly they were shaking. He just needed a minute, adrenalin and shock were a hell of a combo, he just needed some time to sort himself out and _breathe_.

Regis stared at him before exchanging looks with the rest of his Retinue in turn, receiving a helpless shrug from Clarus, an almost offendedly impatient frown from Weskham, and the most puckered bitch-face from Ass Face Harry had seen outside his Aunt's expression when eating grapefruit. Then the Prince moved, too quickly for Harry to do anything but flinch, and stabbed him in the shoulder with something glass that shattered and immediately bathed his shoulder in cool relief.

He yelped, staggering backwards a step, and then tugged his shirt collar aside to check his shoulder in disbelief. “It's... fine? What did you use? That wasn't your magic,” he blurted, looking up at the Prince who grinned.

“Potion.”

Harry scowled, “What _kind_ of potion?” He had never heard of one working _though_ clothing. That was more like... like... _Episkey_  in bottled form.

Weskham coughed, “It is an energy drink _called_ 'Potion'. It has ingredients that interact with the latent magic inside the Lucis Caelum Armiger and provides a minor healing effect when removed and applied directly or ingested,” he explained in amusement.

Harry had no idea what his face was doing, but it was probably something, because Clarus burst out laughing and slapped him on the back, shook his head, and went over to the mausoleum chortling in amusement. Regis grinned at him _almost_ apologetically and quickly moved to join him even as Ass Face gave him a scowling up and down look and turned away as well. He sighed and rubbed his face in annoyance as he turned away to stare at the ugly bastard they had been fighting, leaving them to do what they came here for.

It was definitely big and mean, it was kind of a shame though that they had been forced to kill something so impressive. That no one even thought to try and lure it away so they could access the mausoleum. He supposed that would have been too dangerous though, even if he would have been more than able to do it – it didn't seem to move very fast in all honesty. It was definitely too much for a lone hunter, he would have likely been mulched if he had attempted to take it out alone, that or it would have taken more time than he had in a day.

Sighing, he went to collect his fallen quicksilver, and dropped orichalcum dagger. He stared at the small handgun critically. It was a good weapon. But.... he looked at the bloody eye he had given the bandersnatch with a wrinkled nose, it wasn't good enough. He needed something a little more heavy calibre if this was the sort of thing that ran around the deeper reaches of the forests here – who knew whether or not he would have taken a writ for it further down the line in future? Then where would he be? Just another missing tag like –

The last time he came in here he was looking for a tag he never found.

This was the one area of the forest he never checked.

Stowing the quicksilver, he pulled out his penlight and started hunting. He would have to be quick, he didn't know what they were doing in there, they could only be there to take something out which meant he wouldn't have much time.

Good thing hunter tags were made of an alloy that was particularly reflective, no matter what, when hit with UV light – like his little penlight. It wasn't enough to ward off a daemon, it might surprise them into flinching, but it was more than enough for him to pick up the tell-tale glint of the missing hunter's tags in the undergrowth.

“Harry, we're done!” Regis called as they left the mausoleum.

“Just a sec,” he returned as he began to dig into the pile of dirt.

“Just leave him. We have what we came for, if he wants to play in dung piles he can,” Ass Face sneered in disgust. Harry rolled his eyes, yeah it was gross to do it bare handed, and there was a distinct difference in the droppings of a herbivore and a carnivore, but it didn't change the fact that – there.

He pulled the tag out of the muck of loose packed earth, river mud, leaf-rot, and dung. He had been lucky that part of the chain had been revealed otherwise he would have never found it.

He dodged around the dead bandersnatch and knelt down at the edge of the water and washed not only his hands, but also the tags, rubbing the name visible and sighing heavily. Sahara Junon. She had gone missing a month ago, her brother, York, was absolutely certain that she had eloped with one of the Lestallum hunters, a guy by the name of Xander Timber, and since he hadn't been around Meldacio in just as long, no one could say otherwise. This was going to break his heart. Sahara was the only family he had left.

“What'ch got there?” Clarus asked warily as the group of older men cautiously approached.

Harry rubbed his thumb over her name, she'd had such a dirty sense of humour and a laugh that was more cackle than giggle, and now she was gone and....

“The only burial a hunter will ever get,” he admitted tiredly before stowing it in his pocket, “Let's go. I've got some bad news to deliver.”

“Bad news?” Regis echoed as he came over, looking flushed and buzzed, his grin slipping into a look of concern.

Harry shook his head, “Don't worry about it.”

He lead them back out in silence, checking the battered wristwatch he bought secondhand from Portuttle. They had three hours until the sun started to set, and that would take two hours. So five in total until the daemons started crawling out of the rabbit burrows and the like.

“Four hours until sunset, we'll have to go a bit faster than when we came in,” he called over his shoulder as he picked up the pace to a steady easy jog. _He_ could keep that pace for several hours no problem, he wasn't much of a distance runner but coming to Eos had forced that to change through simple needs must. He couldn't drive, and there were no horses, so running was his only form of transportation. Thankfully, downhill seemed to be a bit easier for them to handle with their ridiculous shoes, and they were able to keep up.

The car was unmolested when they reached the haven, a bird had left its droppings on the back window, but other than that it was perfectly fine. Regis chuckled about Cid's reaction even as he reached for the car door –

“Are you stupid? It's sunset. You'll never get to Meldacio before the daemons start crawling out of the shadows,” Harry pointed out irritably as he made his way up towards the haven.

“No one asked you,” Ass Face snapped, “We'll be fine.”

“They're attracted to magic and you're running around with a fucking beacon, Ass Face. But sure, go right ahead and put your Crown Prince _directly_ in the path of danger because you, what, wanted to sleep in a shitty caravan?” he demanded caustically, making the group exchange glances and then look to their Prince again.

“One night of camping won't kill us, I shouldn't think,” Weskham declared easily, drawing away from the car.

Ass Face made a hissing noise and swore under his breath, stomping after his elders like a thwarted toddler, and threw himself down in a snit, making no move to help them set up camp – as visible a protest as he physically could. Harry stared at him, long and slow, and shook his head in miserable disbelief. What a brat. And just when he was beginning to get something of a better opinion of him after the way he came up with the combat plan against the bandersnatch.

He left the haven, and went to the fishing dock on the otherside of the rocks. He didn't have any fishing equipment, but he also didn't want to deal with Ass Face, and he didn't particularly feel like sitting with them all while they laughed and joked like the friends he had left behind, while Regis was buzzing like Dudley after three redbulls too many leaking his weird magic everywhere. Not while he had the last monument to a brave woman in his pocket and a heart to break when he returned to Meldacio.

This was the first time he had ever found a tag, personally. It had been only a rumour floating around, and since he had a hunt in the area, he figured he would try to find it. He didn't know who the tag supposedly belonged to, but he knew what they were and how important they were. He had hoped he would be lucky and show up in time to save the _person_. Maybe they were injured and in hiding, maybe they had been lucky enough to get to a haven but were too hurt to come back, he didn't know. But... yeah. He hoped.

He dropped himself down at the pier, sitting and watching the sunset over the lake, the ruins in the distance beginning to glow a strange faded almost quartzy red colour, not quite pink, but too washed out to be wholly red either. And he heard the sounds of the daemons in the trees, the quicksilver flashes of fins in the water below him, and if he looked over his shoulder, the rising embers and off-blue smoke of the haven behind him. He took his penlight and clicked it on, tucking it behind his ear as he used his fingers and a corner of his shirt to finish cleaning off the dogtags and chain. He... didn't want to hand it to York and have it still stink of the creature that killed his sister. Didn't want the man to think he didn't care, didn't understand what kind of news he was bringing him.

He didn't know how long he sat at the pier, cleaning it, and then eventually just twisting it around his fingers as he watched the moonlight ripple across the lake surface, watched the distant glow of the ruins and fancied that he could _feel_ whatever ancient machinery that powered it throb with power through the earth and up the wooden struts to vibrate thought his bones. Like the pulse of some sleeping behemoth.

Eventually, the chill drove him back to the haven where at least the campfire would provide some warmth. Everyone had retired, the pitched tent dark and silent, the opening tied up but the mosquito net zipped shut. He got comfortable on the rock, tugging the waterproof blanket that Kimya had given him and curling up under it, using his backpack as a pillow. He didn't look into the tent to realise that a place had been made up for him as well, or inside the grill where a meal was also waiting for him.

It felt like he only got a few hours, but he rarely slept well on havens anyway, too many things shrieking in the distance for him to really relax. He woke with the first rays of the sun spilling into the basin and stretched hard enough for his spine to crack and pop several times before he rolled free of his blanket and folded it back up, shuffling down to the lake to wash his face and take a leak before heading back and beginning some maintenance on his guns – he should have done it yesterday but his head wasn't quite in the right place for it. Besides, it was quiet, and the dawn was beautiful and the air was clean and crisp on a way he wasn't quite used to even after three months.

Earth could never be this clean, he realised almost sadly as he reassembled his freshly cleaned gun, set it aside, and began to disassemble the other. There were too many apex predators here that discouraged humans from going where-ever they pleased, and because of the daemons, industry had stalled as well. There was very little pollution here because humans very rarely reached the numbers that could cause excessive detrimental effects to the environment.

He paused, hearing grunts and groans coming from the tent along with muffled good mornings and fuck offs and jaw cracking yawns. Then:

“Oh. Harry didn't come back last night.” Regis.

“You don't think...” Clarus.

“He seems like a smart boy, I doubt he would have gotten himself into trouble, especially since he was the one that was adamant we stay at the haven.” Weskham.

“Ugh, we should look for him. Idiot probably went and got hurt, _again_.” Ass Face, sounding absolutely disgusted and angry, like usual.

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ass Face,” he called as he began to reassemble his gun.

He spluttered, “Ass Face?!”

“Considering how everything that's come out of your mouth so far as been shit,” Harry pointed out lazily, smirking a little as the tentflap was practically torn open behind him, “With the exception of the battle plan, I think it's a somewhat appropriate moniker.”

Ass Face didn't get much further before he was being hoisted up off his feet with Clarus' arm around his chest and his right hand grabbed in one meaty fist, “Would you _stop_ antagonising him?” the big guy demanded, sounding so thoroughly fed up that Harry _did_ actually feel a little guilty this time. “Didn't your mother ever teach you to play well with the other kids? Fuck, how old even are you?”

Scratch that. He didn't feel bad at all.

“Maybe if he stopped being such a shit-heel towards me I'd stop returning the favour,” he declared coldly as he got to his feet, ignoring the rest of the sentence because he was _not_ unpacking Lily Potter's murder, not to them, not _ever_. He turned and jumped off the side of the haven, “Let's just get back, the sooner we're there, the sooner we never have to deal with each other again.”

Looks were exchanged behind his back as he went to go and wait beside the car. It didn't take the city guys long to pack up, he could feel the burst of magic as the camping equipment was tucked away but made no comment as they came down the hill and the car was unlocked. They all climbed in without a word, and Weskham keyed the ignition and carefully performed a neat three-point-turn in order to get them facing the right direction.

“Harry, I apologise for disturbing you given the current mood, but may I ask you an important question?” the man finally said, breaking the silence.

He sighed a little, “Sure,” he said listlessly. There went the hope of a quiet journey and a quick goodbye.

“Thank you. Last night, you said that daemons were attracted to magic. How did you come by this information? I must admit, it is the first I've heard of it, and Insomnia has been researching the fiends for some time,” he explained as the car bounced along the dirt road along the lake edge.

“The ruins over there. It's written all over the walls,” he said flatly.

“Steyliff Grove?” Clarus demanded from behind them, sounding alarmed.

“Yeah.” Kimya took him in once as back-up. She was the only magic user in Meldacio, according to what he read on the walls in that temple, that made her the Head of House Auburnbrie. But that meant shit for dick to Ezma. Kimya's ability to bless weapons with daemon repelling radiance, and create herbal potions that healed injuries made her too valuable to be allowed to leave the HQ whenever she pleased. So whenever she left, it had to be in secret. But even she wasn't stupid enough to venture into Steyliff Grove alone, so Harry came with her to watch her back as she finished reinforcing the enchantments on the vault. The whole place reminded him of Hogwarts gone wrong, from the strange enchantments that went wonky, to the maze like corridors that occasionally changed now and again, the weird water-ceiling, stone corridors and things that went bump in dark corners. He hadn't had the chance to read the carvings on the walls of the whole temple, he was too keyed up by the presence of the daemons to focus on reading that weirdass chickenscratch. But the bottom level got enough sunlight that there were no daemons there, and both he and Kimya had gotten lucky, the fiend that typically nested there had been out on a hunt that day. So while she was occupied with the vault, Harry wondered the lowest level and read the carvings, and realised why stealth was practically impossible in this place.

Both he and Kimya had undeniably _Light_ orientated magic. They were bloody glow in the dark to the little bastards.

“You can read Ancient Solheim?” Weskham queried in interest.

Harry grimaced, from the sound of his voice, that was apparently unusual around these parts. Kimya hadn't thought twice about it, or, hadn't _commented_ on it when he asked her and pointed it out. Just told him that of the Ancient Magical Houses, only the Nox Fleurets' and the Lucis Caelums' remained, the Auburnbries' were not a House, despite their magic, because they had no patron Astral. Harry thought that was a bit bullshit in all honesty. She had magic, magic was the only pre-requisite for a Magical House. But hey, her world, her rules. Still. She didn't even bat an eyelid at his knowing this 'ancient Solheim', it couldn't have been that unusual if that were the case.

“Yeah. They use a weird sentence structure here though,” he grunted.

“You are well educated,” the retainer praised, sounding pleased, “Your parents must be well off.”

He didn't say anything. The man wasn't wrong. His father _had_ been well off. But really, learning Latin was just an occupational hazard of being friends with Hermione Granger, and wanting to impress Cho Chang. He figured that because she was a Ravenclaw that she would be impressed if he learned, it was basically their spellcrafting language, but of course he was wrong. The language itself wasn't magical. Just screaming a couple of Latin words wasn't going to create a spell – if he had paid more attention to Seamus' failed attempts over the years he would have realised this, but he was usually too busy putting out fires when they inevitably blew up in his face.

Regis laughed a bit uncomfortably in the back, “Money doesn't mean everything, Weskham,” he pointed out quickly, and when Harry glanced into the rearview mirror he caught the Prince giving Ass Face a worried look, the teenager red around the ears and glaring furiously at his knees.

“It doesn't,” Harry agreed, staring out of the window. One only needed to compare the Weasleys to the Malfoys to know that. All that money had gotten the Malfoys was a nice house, and a bad attitude. The Weasleys had family, love, respect, they _did_ things, Bill was a respected Curse Breaker, Charlie was a renowned Dragon Tamer, Percy once given the chance to fly on his own merit would go far within the Ministry, the twins already had their own business, Ron was a _hero_ , and Ginny would make a phenomenal Quidditch Player. What had Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy amounted to? Death Eaters and criminals. What would Malfoy become in the future? _Who fucking knew_. Not much, probably.

“Oh, I do agree,” Weskham assured them, “But one cannot deny that it provides more opportunity, more options, better education and connections.” He sighed sadly, and Harry caught the way he glanced at Ass Face in the mirror as well. “It simply makes things easier.”

“Still,” Clarus interrupted, “Ancient Solheim. Someone who knows how t'read it might come in handy, Highness.”

Harry and Ass Face bristled in concert, “No way,” they both exclaimed at the same time, only to pause and look at each other in surprise.

Weskham huffed a little in amusement, prompting glares.

“I'm not leaving Meldacio,” Harry stated firmly, glaring at them. “Sirius can't go tramping across the country looking for me, he can't fight.”

Ass Face sniffed, “Neither can you,” he sneered and Harry shook his head.

“Fuck you. It's it – he's – he just can't. It's too dangerous. I need to stay _here_ , so he can find me faster and we can go home,” he stressed determinedly. Sirius had been in the Order during the first war, he was considered damn good as a fighter, but whether he _continued_ to be a good fighter after twelve years in Azkaban, two years on the run eating rats and living in caves remained to be seen. Harry felt sick thinking about his godfather wandering around Eos looking for him, having to run away or fight against the strange monsters here, hunkering down amidst tree roots in the dark thinking he would be fine only to have a daemon sneak up on him.

No. No no. Harry needed to stay _right here_ , close enough to Vesper to feel any magic that may herald his arrival. Close enough to haul ass there within the day, grab his godfather and get him _back_ to either a haven or Meldacio.

“Is Sirius your godfather?” Regis asked eagerly, and Harry tensed when the man leaned over the back of his seat to peer down at him.

Cat was out of the bag anyway. “...Yes.”

“That is a Solheim name as well. Sirius. That's what they named one of the stars,” he explained with a cheerful grin that had Harry shrugging in discomfort. “Perchance, are you from Ulwaat?” he asked eagerly before grinning and shaking his head, “Ah, don't answer that. It's kind of obvious.”

“Is it?” Ass Face demanded sarcastically.

Regis grinned and sat back down, letting Harry breathe a little in relief. “Sure it is. Ulwaat is what's _left_ of Solheim. It borders Tenebrae's north-east border. The whole place is supposedly full of old Solheim ruins and culture. Though, there's never been any people living there as far as records go. Not surprising really, with the way the Imperials have been gaining power and raiding just about every area with even slight Solheim roots. And don't you think it odd, Cor? Solheim was well known for its magitek enchantments bending time and space. Its ruins continue to glitch even now, falling apart and reforming, activating and teleporting people the moment the sun sets. There are rumours of a temple not far from Ravatogh where all the wrinkles caused by the development of the megitek were stored. Father said it was eventually used as a training ground because it was physically impossible to _die_ in there. It is not so strange to think that a young man from Solheim's former capitol may _accidentally_ find himself activating a device that throws him into the middle of a lake barely a stone's throw away from another Solheim temple.”

That.... was actually a damn good cover story. And Harry hadn't even needed to lift a finger to make it.

“Well?” Ass Face demanded, Harry looked at him in the rearview mirror. He scowled at him with icy blue eyes. “Is it true?”

Harry looked out of the window instead of answering.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Kimya was waiting for them when they drove back looking relieved but also worried.

“I'm fine,” Harry assured her as he climbed out. She ignored him, as usual, and the Prince getting out of the car beside her as she ran her hands over him and then frowned.

“Y'aren't,” she stated flatly, she stroked his cheek and then slid her hands up into his hair and tutted, cool gently fingers finding the knot on the back of his head where he'd hit it during the fight against the bandersnatch. “Home. I'll deal with yer ribs there.” He didn't ask what was wrong with them, they were badly bruised at the very least from the hit he took from that mandrake when they first got into the forest, they still hurt, but not as badly as they would if they were broken. All in all, he was a bit banged up and scraped, a little hard done by, but fine. He didn't understand the fuss but he nodded never the less.

And then remembered the tag.

“Have you seen Junon?” he asked her as he closed the car door.

“He's on watch,” she said, her frown becoming more pronounced.

“Find someone to replace him,” he said heavily and pulled out Sahara's tag from his pocket. Kimya inhaled sharply, and after a moment of horrified silence, she nodded sadly.

“I will. Gimme... gimme some time,” she requested before hurrying away.

Harry tucked the tag back into his pocket, and then flinched, stepping to the side when Regis put a hand on his shoulder. The man looked a bit startled by his reaction but smiled a bit apologetically, “Sorry. What.... was that about?” he asked softly.

Harry looked away and rubbed his arms, “About a month ago, a hunter went missing. We didn't think anything of it. She was fighting with her brother about her boyfriend, a guy in Lestallum. We all figured she'd eloped after their last spat. The tag I found in the forest is hers.” He still looked confused and Harry kind of wanted to hit him a little. “Tags are the only way to identify a dead hunter if they've been too badly mauled by a mark,” he snapped quietly. “It's the only thing our families _get_ when we die.”

He nodded slowly, rubbing his face with a free hand, “That's why you said you had bad news...”

The Gryffindor nodded, “Yeah. Her brother.... isn't going to take this well,” he murmured, glancing towards the gate where he could see a couple of guys lounging on the scaffolds. It was too far away to identify exactly who, but – fuck.

Cid eventually appeared to harangue the group about his car, and Harry couldn't stand to be near them at that exact moment in time, sick with anxiety and grief about what he was about to do. Eventually the group were joined by Ezma, who seemed to be having quite a serious conversation with Regis judging by their expressions. Harry turned away from them too, catching sight of Ass Face watching him with a frown, and then looking at Kimya who was hurrying down the road in a whirl of skirts.

“Archades is willing t'cover guard,” she said when she finally drew level. She looked like she wanted to say something more for a second, offer to tell Junon about his sister herself, or at least wait until tomorrow, until after she had dealt with his injuries. But she just sighed and took a step back, and Harry nodded, turning around and heading to the gate.

York Junon was a short guy, stocky and wide, with powerful arms and legs. He was a brick who was fond of shotguns, and spent more time and gil on his motorbike than his girlfriend – hence why he didn't have one anymore. He was a friendly guy. Bit of a lad in all honesty, hard drinker, dirty joker, and he had the same cackling laugh as his sister. He.... took the news about as well as Harry could have expected. They tried to give him some privacy, pulling him as far away from the gate as he would allow given how he was on duty, but the second Harry took the tag out of his pocket the hoarse yell he gave out drew all eyes anyway. He took the tag in violently trembling hands, moaning denials the whole time, his voice cracking and breaking. He dropped to his knees and wailed his sister's name so loudly that it was absolutely clear to all the hunters watching what had happened.

Hats were removed, heads were bowed, and they all turned away to give the man privacy as he broke down into pieces.

Guilt churned acid and cold in the pit of his stomach, Harry knelt down and hugged the man tightly, feeling him blindly press his face into his shoulder and scream. He didn't know how long he stayed there, his legs had gone numb, and his feet were cramping, but York eventually stopped shaking, his tears tapered off.

“Tell me you killed it. Tell me you killed the bastard that got my sister,” he rasped into Harry's neck, large hand tightening on the fistful of clothing he had been gripping on Harry's back.

“Yeah,” he promised. “Yeah, it's dead. The Prince... the Prince got it good. It can't hurt anyone anymore,” he said quietly.

York inhaled wetly and let him go, sitting back on his heels. “Good. That's..... good. I should.... thank them.”

Harry nodded slowly as he sat back, but York made no motion to get up, so neither did he.

Eventually though, he did. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, shook his head, and shuffled off, patting him on the shoulder as he left. Harry swallowed and pushed himself to his feet, wincing painfully as all the blood rushed back to his legs. He hobbled silently back to Kimya's place, letting himself in. There were a lot of voices in the living room and when Kimya stepped out, he could see the entire royal retinue in there with Ezma.

“York?” the young woman asked as she joined him in the hallway.

“Not great but.... better than he was,” Harry admitted solemnly as he unlaced his boots and tugged them off.

Kimya nodded, “That's good. Come on, shirt off. I want to take a look at those ribs.”

He sighed quietly but nodded, and followed her into his tiny shared room with Dave. The sisters didn't have enough space for a guest room, so when Kimya brought him in, everyone ended up sharing a room.

When Harry took his shirt off, even he was a little surprised by how bright and vivid the bruising across his chest and back was. Even his shoulders were bruised – the one clear patch being an obvious six inch swath where Regis had jabbed him with the 'Potion'. Honestly. A magically reactive energy drink that gained healing properties when exposed to light magic? Just what the hell was in it? Given how Harry and Kimya themselves were light orientated mages, did that mean they could drink it and be healed from the inside out? Or did it have to be magically activated first? Or was it just the Lucis Caelum magic _specifically_ that caused such a unique reaction?

He hissed uncomfortably as Kimya pressed her hands against his ribs and kneaded the flesh thoughtfully.

“Ow! Are you trying to – ow! – break them yourself?!” he demanded, yelping and trying to wriggle away.

“I'm checkin' t'see if y'all've broken 'em,” she scolded, “Hold still!” He hissed painfully again but did as he was told. “Cracked. At the very _least_ ,” she decided once she was finished.

“Before or after you got your hands on me?” he teased, groaning theatrically as he wrapped his arms around himself.

“Baby,” she retorted with a huff of laughter, flicking his nose.

He kept his mouth shut as she bustled around the tiny room, perched on the end of Dave's bed, his own camping cot in the corner. She poured out her own herbal remedy into a wash basic and grabbed a cloth, “This will burn,” she warned as she dipped the cloth into the minty scented water. Harry nodded, he was used to her magic patching him up now, it didn't hurt as much as it used to.

The cloth when she ran it over his back _did_ burn. Like menthol. He hissed a little but otherwise grit his teeth and tolerated it as she slowly soaked his skin in the herb water, the burning lessening over time into an uncomfortable warmth. By the time she was running the cloth over his knuckles, a second one held against his head by his own hand, the bruises littering his chest were visibly fading, and the uncomfortable warmth was beginning to fade into just wet skin and chill.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Kimya called without looking up.

“Oh, my apologies, we can come back another time if – my word.” It was the royal retinue, or more specifically, Weskham, the Prince, and Ass Face. The retainer was staring in wonder as Harry's bruises faded right in front of his eyes, and with every swipe of Kimya's damp cloth, the scrapes and grazes on his knuckles healed over as well.

“Jes' gimme a second, and I'll be right with y'all,” the woman said, checking her work before tossing the cloth into the much diminished water. “Lemme see yer head,” she said to Harry, gently pulling his hand away and parting his hair. She nodded in satisfaction, “All done. Now go get yerself somethin' t'eat. Y'all just used an awful lotta energy,” she ordered before turning to them. “What can I do fer y'all?”

“Actually, we were hoping to speak with Harry instead,” Regis admitted with an apologetic smile.

Kimya narrowed her eyes at him but then smiled, “Wonderful, y'all can make sure he actually gets somethin' t'eat then. My healin' takes its power directly outta ya, an' if yer a skinny slip'o'nothin,” she trailed off pointedly with a glance over her shoulder to where Harry was dragging the closest shirt over his head.

“I eat!” he objected with a glare.

“Not nearly enough,” she argued and Harry rolled his eyes as he got to his feet. He wasn't getting into this argument again. He was already imposing on the Auburnbries' enough, he didn't need to add to it by eating them out of house and home. He cooked up what he killed and foraged in the Vesper, it wasn't like he was starving himself. If anything, Kimya tried to _overfeed_ him, in his opinion.

Weskham of course beamed, “Of course. Dinner should be ready soon, actually, there is more than enough for young Harry to join us if he wishes.” Harry perked up with interest.

“He'd love to,” Ezma announced from outside the room, and Harry bristled, glaring in the direction he heard her voice. No. He _had_ been about to accept, he liked Weskham's cooking, and the man had invited him to join them himself, but having someone just decide _for_ him put his back up.

“Thank you, but no,” he said instead, “I have food of my own.”

“Boy – ” he twitched and tensed at her tone.

“What would _you_ like t'eat, sister?” Kimya interrupted sweetly as she put a hand to Regis' chest and gently pushed him out of her way. “I have some'a that kujata marrow Dave brought back th'other day. How 'bout meat pie?” she continued, steering her sister to the tiny kitchen.

“Kujata marrow don't go in pie! Y'all ain't cookin', Kimya! Yer pies always go wrong!” Ezma objected, allowing herself to be distracted and pulled away.

Harry sighed.

“Hate people telling you what to do, huh?” Regis asked with a grin. “Sounds familiar,” he added with a playful look in Ass Face's direction. The teenager pulled a face at him and scowled defensively.

“Not my fault that people are stupid and tell me to do stupid things,” he bitched quietly.

“Still, Harry, the offer to eat with us is still there,” Weskham told him gently, “We have a request we would like to ask of you.”

“Ask then,” he grunted.

The three came fully into the room, and slid the door shut behind them for some semblance of privacy.

“Madam Ezma has asked something of a favour of us, and tonight we will be going into Steyliff Grove in order to see what it is she wishes of us,” Weskham explained. “She will be accompanying us as our guide, but we were rather hoping that you too would join us. Someone able to read Ancient Solheim would be a great boon in such a place.”

Regis nodded, “I would like to see the carvings you spoke of myself. If its true, then it would mean that the Nox Fleurets' and the Lucis Caelums' weren't always alone, and there may be other magic users out there in the world in need of protection.”

Harry sighed, “I'll think about it,” he promised. He was, in all honesty, utterly exhausted.

“Think fast,” Ass Face demanded harshly, “The temple only opens after-dark, so we're going tonight.”

Petty spite welled up hotter and faster than he previously considered himself capable of. “You think fast,” he snapped irritably, the wet cloth that Kimya had been using on him sailing through the air a split second later.

Ass Face squawked, and then cursed when the cloth splattered into his face, wrapping around it with one of the most satisfying sounds Harry had ever heard outside of Dudley's cartoons.

Regis _cackled_ , physically having to bend double as he wheezed for air.

Weskham lunged between the two teenagers, hand pressing firmly to Ass Face's chest as he clawed the wet cloth off with a feral snarl and made to lunge for him.

“Would you three _please_ behave yourselves?!” the retainer begged over the cursing fifteen year old and cackling Prince.

“What did _I_ do?!” the Prince exclaimed through his laughter with wounded dignity.

“ _You_ are a bad influence and a stirrer, Your Highness!” he scolded, “Cor! I will place you in timeout if you continue!”

Ass Face immediately silenced himself, giving the man a wary look even as he practically recoiled where he was stood. Harry tilted his head at the reaction. Interesting. Clarus threatening him barely garnered anything more than annoyance, _Weskham_ doing so was apparently a legitimate threat, at least as far as Ass Face was concerned. Nice to know who held the real reigns of power in the group dynamics (it certainly wasn't Regis even though he had penultimate veto-authority, or so he assumed).

How does one get put in timeout while on a roadtrip? Would he get locked in the boot of the car? Harry snickered at the mental image of the other teenager being folded up like a camping chair and packed away. That was apparently the wrong thing to do because a split second later, Ass Face too a step forward and then Weskham did as well. Between one moment and the next, the grumpy teenager was picked _up_ , and carted out of the room without so much as a by your leave.

Harry gaped at the door in surprise.

“Did that just happen?” he asked the Prince faintly as the man dissolved once again into maniacal giggling. “Did he just get – _picked up?_ ”

“Yep. Easiest way to deal with Cor when he gets like this. Just pick him up and leave,” the man snickered wildly. “Doesn't work much though. Too volatile.” He wiped tears from his eyes and straightened up to smile charmingly at him, “Don't take it too personally. Cor really _doesn't_ know how to talk to people his own age, especially not when he's trying to impress them,” he added with a grin that had Harry rolling his eyes. Yes, because acting like a horrific amalgamation of Draco Malfoy, plus his favourite bookends, and a fucking Hungarian Horntail was going to impress him. He sincerely doubted Regis had even the faintest of ideas what was going on here really. “His family were originally refugees so unfortunately he's had to toughen up unfairly early. Not to mention his genius at combat made him a target for early recruitment to the Crownsguard. Cor's spent his whole life in one fight or another, trying to prove himself worthy of existing, of being accepted into Insomnia, of his position in the army. Really, don't take it personally, Harry. He's just trying to prove to you that he's worthy of being in my retinue.”

“Was I ever questioning it?” he asked flatly, folding his arms and looking up at the man.

“Well, no. But the need to do so is still there,” he explained gently with a smile and Harry scoffed.

“This isn't my country, you're not my Prince, what do I care who you have in your Retinue? Seriously. All he's done is prove how much of a fucking asshole he is.”

“Is that really true?” the man asked playfully, and Harry frowned at him in irritated bewilderment.

“ _Yes_.”

He blinked, eyes widening as he looked down at him before laughing helplessly, “Oh wow. He's really screwed the pooch, hasn't he?”

Harry was so confused. He was also hungry.

“Whatever. Let's go eat,” he grunted. It _was_ lunch time. After he filled his face he had every intention of having at _least_ a four hour nap before deciding whether or not he was going to join the suicidal – oh who was he kidding. He was going to have a four hour nap so he could go into Steyliff Grove with the suicidal morons to make sure they didn't bloody well die.

The sisters were still arguing in the kitchen, but it was now accompanied with music from the radio, so harry happily left them to their bickering and cooking as he went to put his boots back on, Regis toeing back into his muddy shoes with a wince. “Maybe you should invest in some actual hiking boots?” he suggested blandly, “Y'know, things that won't get ruined by mud, and are waterproof, and have _treads_.”

He snickered, “But they wouldn't match the suit,” he complained playfully.

“Ditch the suit maybe? Anyway, aren't you being hunted by Imperials?” Harry asked, opening the door for him. “Isn't it a bit stupid to wander around _looking_ like who you are? You're kind of asking for assassination attempts here.”

He scoffed, “Nothing they have can stand up to the Lucis Caelum magicks, and this pilgrimage is to obtain the inheritance of my forefathers. With every one of their weapons, my power grows,” he explained with only a little bragging in his tone. Harry meanwhile wrinkled his nose, that was why his magic felt weird. It was inherited magic, not his own. Not yet anyway. It would take some time and a couple of full moons for that sort of power to settle properly into its vessel. Also explained why he got so damn hyperactive after that fight with the bandersnatch – if he'd just inherited another shard of familial magic then he was going to be bouncing off the walls for at least an hour.

The caravan when they approached was fairly crowded, and there was an absolutely delicious smell of seafood wafting out of the open doors. Clarus had a huge brick of a mobile phone pressed to his ear and a number of papers in front of him, looking vexed as he made notes about whatever was being said to him, Cid was on the next table over and laughing at Ass Face next to him looking fit to spit wasps. Had he actually been put on timeout?

Weskham smiled as he peered out the door and spotted them, “Just in time. Will you be joining us, Harry?” he asked warmly.

“If that invitation is still open,” he said before jerking a thumb at the restaurant, “If not, no big. Portuttle owes me for helping out, I can scab left overs for free.”

“Nonsense. Of course the invitation is still open,” the man declared, waving a spoon even as Regis mouthed the word 'scab' with an expression of confusion and delight.

“Thank you,” he said, taking one of the empty seats while Regis went to go and bother Clarus.

“Heard I missed quite the party,” Cid said with a grin as he tipped his hat up, “How's yer shoulder?”

Harry shrugged, “Fine. Kimya fixed me up.”

He nodded, “Good. What number dislocation is it this time?” he asked playfully. Harry blinked at him in confusion, odd question. “From th'way th'fellers were tellin' it, only an idiot wouldn't'a realised y'were used ter it. Most folk head t'th'healer or th'hospital. Ya just popped it back in, purdy as ya please.”

The Gryffindor shrugged again, looking away to watch the hunters over at Portuttle's. “Never bothered to keep count.” It was always going to go up, what with Dudley, and then Hogwarts. His right arm wasn't a problem anymore, Lockhart had done him a favour in second year, when Madam Pomfrey regrew his whole arm it also reattached the joint into the socket with all the tendons and ligaments in the right place and the right length. It had once been Dudley's favourite arm to pop, because it lead to _hours_ of entertainment for the little brute watching Harry struggle to do even the most basic of chores.

Cid made a noise, “That often huh.”

“It isn't a big deal,” he stressed with a frown. “Look, they – they said you were a mechanic. Are all the cars manufactured in Insomnia, or are parts produced and just slapped together elsewhere? I wouldn't have thought there was much in the way of actual manufacturing out here given the daemons.”

The mechanic laughed, “Yer th'first t'actually ask. Most folk jest take it fer granted that there's cars kickin' around. Yer right, there _ain't_ no manufacturin' out here. Parts are made in th'Crown City, sometimes Lestallum, shipped out to th'Coernix station in Duscae, or any o'th'machine marts fer people t'buy. That's when folk like me come in, we slap 'em together like ya said. Make somethin' that runs.”

Harry nodded, “What about bikes?”

“Too fuel inefficient,” the old man complained with a wave of a hand, “Not t'mention folk don't like bein' exposed on th'road. Fiends don't care much fer roads, but they will cross 'em. And bike engines have less insulation, y'can hear 'em a mile off.” He chuckled then leaning forward, “But yer thinkin' fer hunters, right?”

The Gryffindor nodded again, “Yeah. Going point to point, sometimes off-road. I would have thought I'd see _more_ bikes to be honest.”

“But findin' parts is a pain. Y'gotta think in terms o'yer wallet,” the man declared before going on to explain how cars were more popular, so the parts were easier to get. Bikes were generally considered far too dangerous and thus fell out of popularity, no one was making parts for them anymore, so repairing them often meant just scrapping the whole thing and getting a new one – something getting more and more expensive as fewer and fewer people were interested in them. Getting the parts to construct it was expensive, then there was finding someone who even knew how to do it, also expensive given how it was falling out of practice.

It was only halfway through the conversation that he realised Ass Face hadn't said a word and was still sat there scowling unhappily down at the table. Feeling a little bad about outright ignoring him, especially since these were _his_ friends, and it was kind of his meal that he was interrupting, Harry grimaced a little and turned to him, “What do you think?” he asked with careful neutrality. Cid wasn't military, Ass Face was, he'd have a different point of view.

Ass Face snapped his head up and scowled at him, but didn't say anything.

Cid snorted, “'e's on timeout. Since he can't stop runnin' his mouth, Wesk threatened t'leave him in the car if he didn't keep quiet and behave himself,” the man chortled.

Harry scratched at his head in a mixture of dismay and amusement, “I see. I'm sorry I asked then.”

“Clear the tables, if you would! Dinner is ready!” Weskham called through the door causing a flurry of activity at the other table where Clarus and Regis had been going over a lot of paperwork, passing that phone between them. A moment later the man was coming out with multiple plates, fish skewers, something that Harry managed to identify as some kind of seafood paella, and a plate of chips. It smelt amazing. “Dig in,” the man declared with a pleased smirk as he took a seat himself.

Harry waited until the other two had dished themselves up portions before helping himself, only small amounts to try it out before having more. The skewers were _definitely_ a kind of salmon with a rich sweet nutmeg sauce, the paella had a thick shortgrain rice he'd never seen before, tangy shrimp, and black shelled molluscs. The chips were just chips, thin cut and lightly fried. It was all damn good.

“It's good, right?” Regis asked with a grin as he pulled up his seat at their table, grinning at Ass Face who's expression had relaxed some during the meal. The teenager frowned mildly at him before rolling his eyes and folding his arms. Guess bitchy was just his defeat expression, Harry decided before nodding to the Prince.

“Yeah.”

“Have you thought more on our request?” he asked hopefully, “Knowledge of Ancient Solheim is thin on the ground and with the way Niflheim have been hording every scrap of information on them they can get hold of, and destroying what they can't, it makes anything Lucis can get hold of all the more important in the war. Any advantage we can edge out over them is vital.”

Harry grimaced a little, “I'll go, but, I don't think you're going to get much out of there? It's a temple dedicated to their goddess of death. All it really talks about is magic and life, I mean, there was a passage about the death of god at the hands of men but...” He shrugged a bit helplessly.

The Prince lit up excitedly, “Anything strong enough to kill an Astral would turn the tide against Niflheim! We will be in your debt, Harry, if you can give us _any_ information.” The Gryffindor grimaced as the man's tone changed, becoming solemn and regal.

“I – I can't _promise_ anything.” Interfering with a war was also the sort of thing he got the feeling Hermione would tear his testicles off for. Especially when things like technology versus magic were involved on such a global scale.

Regis nodded solemnly, “Then do not. Lucis will not have lost anything for the trying.” He checked his wrist watch and nodded, “We will be making a move just before sunset at six. Meet us back here?”

Harry nodded, he knew a dismissal when he heard one.

“Understood. I'll see you then. Thank you for the meal, it was delicious.”

Weskham beamed from his table, “Always a pleasure, Harry. We will see you later, yes?”

He nodded, collected his plate, took it into the caravan and left – making his way to the Cutlass van to restock his bullets. He was going to have to enchant a few for this trip.

He hated daemons.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Harry slept pretty well on a full stomach, curled up in his borrowed bedding, and woke up to Dave, muddy and grinning, shaking his shoulder. “Time to wake up Princess. Yer Prince awaits,” he teased.

“Asshole,” Harry complained, shoving him. Of course, Dave was built like a brick and barely even rocked on his heels as the Gryffindor then decided to use him as leverage to get up. He stretched hard enough that his joints popped and Dave snickered, leaning forward to poke him in the stomach. Harry squawked and slapped his hand away making the older teenager laugh again. “Knock it off.”

As Harry got dressed, Dave got undressed, throwing his dirty clothes in the hamper and going to get himself cleaned up after his hunt. His hunting leathers were clean now, so he strapped himself back into them with relief and stored his usual collection of knives back into position, and belted on his magazine pouches. Dave might laugh at him and say he was over-prepared but Harry had _been_ in that temple, he didn't like it in there. It reminded him too much of Hogwarts gone wrong, like... like the Chamber of Secrets only the Basilisk wasn't the only thing down there, and Tom Riddle was far from the worst.

Ezma greeted him at the door, her sword and shield in arm. She gave him a quick look up and down and, to his surprise, nodded in approval.

“Good t'see yer takin' this seriously,” she declared before opening the door and marching out.

What, did Harry _ever_ give her the impression he didn't take this sort of shit seriously? People died on hunts, never mind just – walking around the basin without a clue of what they were doing. He took it fucking seriously.

The whole royal retinue was waiting at the Regalia when the two showed up, and Harry immediately felt a chill of foreboding when he saw the apologetic expression on Weskham's face, and the poorly hidden one of anticipatory glee on Regis. Neither Cid nor Clarus looked too bothered, but at the same time, Clarus also looked like he was an inch away from inserting his head in an oven and turning it on.

“My apologies, Madam Auburnbrie, Harry, but unfortunately the Regalia cannot comfortably sit our entire group,” Weskham explained with a grimace.

“And I ain't sittin' on my thumbs 'round here again,” Cid chimed in with a waspish snap.

“No one was suggesting it, old timer,” Clarus retorted heavily before eyeing the two of them. “Do you have your own transportation?” he asked without much hope.

“We're used to walkin',” Ezma announced firmly, “We can meet y'all there if need be.”

Regis shook his head, “No need. If you're comfortable with the idea, there should be enough space to double up.”

Ezma smirked, “Are you propositionin' me, yer Highness?” she asked slyly.

There was a moment of silence as he realised just what he had just proposed and then chuckled, “I would not dare to presume, Madam, but what young man would not enjoy a beautiful woman in his lap?” he returned gallantly, Weskham gave him an absolutely _filthy_ look of disapproval, and he quickly added, “But my heart is spoken for; if you have no objections to the idea, Clarus would probably be the most comfortable perch in the car.”

“Don't you throw me under this bus, Regis,” the Shield hissed with real alarm as Ezma gave him a thoughtful look up and down, her eyes lingering on his thighs with a smirk. He really began to look alarmed then.

“I'll take it. An' dun' worry, yer virtue is safe with me,” she told him kindly, smirking the whole while. Clarus shot his wildly grinning Prince a look that promised retribution.

“And Harry, sorry, for much the same reason, you'll have to double with Cor for this trip,” the Prince told him with a _passable_ attempt at an apologetic look – that would maybe fool a first year.

“I'll walk,” he stated quickly.

“Unless y'all plan on stayin' here, git in the car, boy. I'll not have ya wastin' time,” Ezma hissed, giving him a hard shove towards the vehicle.

He scowled at her, “Do you have any idea how many knives I have on me right now? The road down there isn't exactly smooth. He'll end up looking like he got on the wrong side of a mushussu. And that's before I start stabbing.”

Cid rolled his eyes, “Y'all can sit with me,” he decided in annoyance, giving the Prince a disapproving glare alongside Weskham who shook his head in annoyance and got into the car without comment. “Stow yer weapons in th'back. Regis, yer up-front. Wesk wants a _word_ wit'ya.”

Regis winced, his smile becoming a little fixed as he moved to the front seat and Cid showed the two hunters where to store their weapons in the back – and ordered Harry to remove the knives he had hidden around his waist at the very least. After that it was everyone into the car for a cramped and uncomfortable trip.

“Six, boy,” Cid complained once they were all inside and in position, “Ya got a boney ass.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Yeah, sorry about that, I'll wear my other ass-cheeks next time, shall I?” he demanded sarcastically and winced as Ezma booted him in the side of the leg for his cheek. He hunched down and shifted so that he was sat more _in-between_ Cid's legs than on them, and so that his head wouldn't be painfully turned by the low ceiling. It meant he had to sit sideways a bit, but the grunt of appreciation he received meant it was worth being in physical contact with Ass Face to make things easier for the old man. Speaking of, he looked particularly uncomfortable sandwiched between the two men and their extras, Ezma hadn't spared him much of anything and sat similarly to Harry in Clarus's lap, but had also thrown her legs over his as well. Neither Clarus nor Cid were small men, Cid might have been shorter than Regis, but he was a bit broader, meaning that poor Ass Face was packed in tight between the two of them, his arms folded, and scowling unhappily. He almost felt bad for him. Almost.

The trip down to the path that would take them to the temple was an incredibly uncomfortable hour where-in Ezma briefed them on the kind of fiends they would find. There were plenty of mushussu and mushmahhu on the way in, a nest of Royalisks that would likely have chickatrice already at this time of year – and that was before they even got into the temple. Skeletons would be crawling out of every hole, Reapers prowled the deeper Hallways, lich, creme-brulee, iron titans lurked inside as well. And then there was the guardian.

“Guardian?” Ass Face asked, frowning at her as they went over a particularly rough spot, and looking away just as quickly when the bouncing did some very interesting things to her chest in the largely unbuttoned shirt she wore.

“Quetzalcoatl,” she said simply, “One took t'nestin' here in Steyliff. S'reason Meldacio guard station is manned at all hours. Sometimes it'll get it inta its head t'attack th'town. Problem is, as soon as y'kill one, another'll just move inta that territory. They're polite as far as fiends go, territory wars don' happen. But as soon as a space becomes available, one'll move right on in.” She waved a dismissive hand as they bounced their way down the dirt track, “S'easier t'just keep th'one an' train it t'avoid the town.”

“How do you train a fiend that big, though?” Clarus asked thoughtfully and she smirked, leaning into him in a way that made Harry grimace and look away. This was profoundly uncomfortable. Thank god Dave wasn't here to witness this.

“Same way y'all'd train a dog. Hit it when it does wrong, reward it when it does right,” she told him, walking her fingers up his chest. “If it come an' attacks the town, then it gets a stabbin'. If it leaves us all be, sometime we'll leave our marks fer it t'eat in the basin.”

“Stop here,” Harry called when he spotted the rock formation at the mouth of the path. “That's the path.”

He pointedly ignored the pout on Ezma's face when they finally drew to a stop and quickly climbed out. It took only a few moments for Harry and Ezma to collect their gear from the back of the car, and Harry was content to put his knives back where they belonged as they walked, ignoring the weird stare he got from Ass Face as he did so. He had lost his damn wand when he first arrived here, and pointedly ignored the magic trap sword that Dragon Dick threw at him. He had been wandering around this basin without weapons for hours and nearly had his ass torn open by most of the local fiends. He was _never_ making the mistake of being unarmed ever again. Even if he ended up with only the tiny throwing knives he had, it was _something_ he could use to defend himself.

The next of royalisks didn't stand a chance as they passed through and by that point it was fully dark, the group of seven carefully creeping through the water and plants trying not to make any noise as they sloshed around. It was probably a good thing Harry was so damn blind without his glasses and had gotten used to navigating without them, he didn't use his eyesight quite so much as the others. Before long, he was leading the way through the thigh-high mud and water, gun in hand, towards the ruins that he could see glinting through the trees. He was the only one apart from Ezma and Ass Face who hadn't slipped in the mud or stepped in a deeper part of the lake that they couldn't see in the dark. Clarus was soaking wet from head to foot and scowling fit to kill something by the time they passed through the huge stone gates and into the temple proper.

Immediately the whole temperament of the group changed as they formed up into position. Ezma moved to the front with Harry, as the two guides they were taking point with Clarus and Cid in rear-guard, Regis and Cor then book-ending Weskham between them so the taller gunner could turn and provide support to which ever side required it. It meant both forward and rear had three fighters, and back-up. Not a bad set up for a formation that took Ass Face all of fifteen seconds to decide upon.

They climbed the steps into the temple.

“Why does it only activate at night I wonder,” Regis mused hypothetically.

“Probably something to do with daemons given how every single ruin is crawling with them,” Ezma dismissed scornfully.

“Solar powered, most likely,” Harry concluded instead as he double-checked his ammo pouches without looking up. Daemon worshipping was stupid and there was no sign of it written anywhere in the ruins, no effigies, no symbolism, no nothing. “After this long without maintenance the power storage or conversion systems are damaged. These only start glowing at night, and even then in places it's really subdued. If I had to hazard a guess, it's supposed to be operational at all hours but can only convert a little bit of energy these days. Another century or two and it might not be functional at all.”

He paused, looking up in surprise when they all stopped to stare at him. He looked between them, the expressions of astonishment and confusion, and frowned, “Are you kidding me? Has no one actually ever considered this? It's fucking _obvious!_ ”

Cid nodded, scratching at his stubble, “Can't say it isn't, actually. Kid's right. Y'all ever been t'Costlemark? Whole place glows after dark, hums like an engine too. Durin' th'day though, those lil'glowy bits are still hot t'th'touch. But other ruin's don'. Only th' ones what glow have any technology worth a gander.”

“Regardless,” Ezma snapped, shooting Harry a glare, “We're here on important business. Who cares _why_ or if it works. Daemons'll still be crawlin' all over it.”

“Into the breech, as they say,” Weskham announced solemnly.

Harry nodded and readied his gun as Ezma looked at him. She nodded back and the two of them took the first steps into the temple, and then down the staircase.

Ezma didn't bother with a light like the others, Harry kept his small penlight torch, it had a small magnetic attachment that he could use to affix it to the top of his gun but for now he had it lifted up, giving the older woman some much needed light at her back so she wouldn't be completely blind.

Distantly, when they finally reached the first chamber, they could hear the chittering and croaking of skeletons in the dark, echoing across stone walls and making it impossible to tell what direction they were coming from – because there was more than one path out of this room. Ezma took them to the left, and the chittering grew louder. Suddenly she yelled a battle cry and lunged forward with her shield and sword.

Harry slapped his light to his gun and jumped in after her.

Daemons.... they weren't like other fiends.

Unlike fiends who could be permanently put down depending on where you hit, such as a shot in the eyeball, or a knife across the throat, daemons didn't really have any internal biological functions that would destroy them if pierced. They were just.... functional beings of hardened black smog. Actual _demons_ as Harry would have known them. Sure if you hit them hard enough eventually they would pop, or if you hit them enough to break whatever power that held them together. But it was a pain in the fucking ass to do. His 'lumos' bullets did pretty good at knocking the little fucks on their asses, which gave the rest of the retinue time to whale on them until they broke.

“This way,” Ezma commanded, taking them to the passage immediately on the right of the one they came in through, ignoring the other two.

“What's over there?” Clarus asked, nodding to the other two doorways.

“One room with a dodgy time displacement, and another that's just empty,” Harry explained as he followed after Ezma without argument.

“What d'y'all mean by time displacement?” Cid asked gruffly, adjusting his grip on his lance as they followed them down the path.

“Ceiling falls down as soon as you walk more than halfway in. Then it goes back up as soon as you leave. Drops down again when you come back,” the Gryffindor explained as he grabbed Ass Face by the back of his shirt and yanked him away from the right hand side as the ceiling collapsed in on itself to the tune of gleeful skeletons in the distance. Ass Face shrugged him off, but nodded gratefully all the same, so Harry opted not to take offence for once as he turned to follow Ezma going left.

The small chamber was crawling with skeletons that once again needed wiping out, but this time the path was clear, there was only one other passage to go through, and there was a glow of distant light through there.

“By the _Six_....” Clarus whispered even as Ass Face muttered an entirely heartfelt: “Shiva's _tits._ ”

Yeah, the main chamber was always going to be cool, no matter how many times Harry saw it. The ceiling was literally the surface of the lake above their heads. They were literally underwater but the enchantments on the temple meant that there was no water in there, and they could still breathe perfectly fine. Then there were the _huge_ tree roots that stretched the whole length of the hall. It made Harry wonder if perhaps once there had been a huge tree somewhere in the Vesper, Dave told him that apparently there was a weird one in Niflheim that stretched up as tall as a mountain. He kinda wanted to see it, because it did sound pretty cool.

Both Harry and Ezma peered over the railings to check whether or not the guardian was about, usually they would hear it as soon as they walked in, but it kept unusual hours and may have been sleeping.

“Guardian is out hunting. We're good,” Ezma announced before taking the lead once again. This time, when they reached the next pack of daemons, it was the brightly coloured gooey ones that Kimya told him were Creme Brulee. Harry, who was actually a _fan_ of crème brulee desserts, did not appreciate the name, or the daemon in question actually. Apparently neither did any of the other retinue if the swearing that kicked off at the sight of it was any indication as they all drew weapons.

“Lightning and fire won't work!” Ezma shouted as she saw Regis summon an elemancy cannister.

A split second later and Harry felt himself being pulled backwards, Cid yanking him behind a pillar and covering him with his body as Regis shouted: “Ice bomb!”

It was like a blizzard exploded in the corridor. Every bit of Harry's exposed skin burned with chill even as Cid and the pillar kept him covered from the worst of it. A split second later Clarus roared and there was an awful sound of cracking ice and then the familiar hissing pop of the daemons breaking down and vanishing.

“Y'alright, kid?” Cid asked, shaking snow from his hair as he pulled back.

“M-my ears h-hurt,” he complained rubbing at the frost that crawled up them, ugh, even his hair was frozen into clumps. He shook his head and scrubbed a hand hard against the chilled flesh, “It's fine. I'm fine. Thanks for the save.” He would have been a very ugly icicle if the mechanic hadn't yanked him out of the line of fire. To the otherside, he could see Ezma shaking off her own frosty clothing, her cheeks covered with curling frost patterns. He probably wasn't much better in all honesty as he kicked aside a snow-drift and rejoined the rest of the group on the ice covered stone. Regis and Ass Face annoyingly looked perfectly fine despite being covered in frost and snow, they weren't even shivering like him, and their ears hadn't blistered like his and Ezma's had either. Then he saw the ring on the Prince's hand glowing and frowned at it.

“Ah, Ring of Resistance. It sucks up some of my magic to shield people connected to me from any elemancy I use,” he explained apologetically, seeing where Harry was looking. “It, uh, unfortunately doesn't work for you or Madam Auburnbrie.”

Harry waved it off, “No worries, just give us enough time to get out of the blast radius before throwing it around,” he requested before looking them both over, “Ready to keep moving?” he asked, casting a glance to where Ezma was grumpily kicking icicles off her shield. Oh yeah, she was fine, probably wanting to go and find something to kill in order to warm herself back up.

Regis smiled, pleased that they weren't upset with him, “Yes. Please, lead on.”

Harry cast a look at Clarus, “Might want to tuck your weapons away for this next bit,” he warned before taking the lead for the first time. He stowed his guns and took Ezma's shield from her before flattening his back against the wall and edging himself along the ever so tiny scrap of stone moulding that hadn't collapsed with the passing of time. It was slow going getting everyone over, but they managed it quickly enough, and moved down a level. In truth, they could have just jumped down the hole, but for some reason whenever Harry had tried previously, he just bounced back.

Down the stairs they came back into the main chamber and had to climb over the debris from the fallen walkway above before they could reach the balcony, and another group of skeletons.

That was where it went wrong for Harry.

One of them got past Ezma. He had a split second to realise the blur in the corner of his eye wasn't shifting light but a skeleton, before it was on him, landing on his shoulder and pitching him to the left – over the balcony railing and out into open air.

He fell.

And landed on a fucking _lich_ , his ankle cracking sickeningly as he hit it with a scream.

“Harry!”

He rolled away from the daemon and opened fire, everything he had, scrambling backwards blindly on his ass. Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_

He could hear shouting above him, and _god_ , his ankle was on fire! He yelled and rolled to the side as the skeleton that knocked him down here to begin with jumped for him. He shot it in the head and it finally exploded into greasy smog.

A second one was quick to take its place and he didn't even have time to curse as he had to force himself to his feet to get away from it – and the three others the lich had created while he was distracted.

He twisted around one of them when it jumped for him, grabbing his emergency magazine and slamming it into the quicksilver. Without his wand, he couldn't really cast spells. He could imbue bullets with spell-properties, enchant them basically, but if he _really_ poured enough energy into it, he could _overcharge_ that enchantment. Like a controlled burst of accidental magic. It burnt through the whole magazine though, and he would need time to re-enchant them. Buuut, trapped in a circular room with a lich that kept summoning skeletons with a broken ankle seemed like as good a time as any other!

“PATRONUS!”

The barrel of his gun exploded with white light, and the skeletons screeched, throwing themselves away from him as he fired off the one spell he knew was _guaranteed_ to work against these ugly fucks.

Prongs burst into the room, and threw himself at the lich before it could drift too far away, and Harry slammed a fresh lumos clip home and got to work. Between the two of them, the lich couldn't summon anymore daemons, and the ones already in the room couldn't get up off the floor in order to attack him between his bullets and Prongs' hooves.

He slid down the wall with a groan, and Prongs silently trotted over to him and lowered his head to huff in his face. The patronus didn't have lungs, didn't breathe, didn't even have any weight. He was made entirely of light and warmth and all the faith and love Harry had for his parents. That it would come and check up on him even after its duty was done made his heart clench. He smiled and gently touched the stag's face.

“I'll be alright,” he murmured, hearing the distant sound of shouting and footsteps above. “Off you go. I'll call if I need you,” he promised. Prongs leaned forward, touching his forehead with his muzzle before fading away, leaving nothing more than after images and warmth where he once stood.

Harry blinked it away and looked up, seeing lights moving frantically four floors above him.

“Harry?! Harry are you alright?!” Regis was shouting down to him, practically leaning over the edge of the balcony, searching the gloom for any sign of him. He was too far down to be seen though, there was no light down here. Not anymore.

“I don't see any lights!” Weskham announced, his voice tight with anxiety.

“Boy!” Ezma, her voice a whipcrack through the air, terrified and worried, and furious about it.

He coughed a little on his dry throat, “I'm here!”

“Are you alright?!” Weskham called as he spotted Regis practically slump over the railing. Harry was quiet for a moment, staring at his ankle in annoyance. He could... _probably_ walk on it. He'd done the whole fighting and running thing on a fucked leg before during the Third Task, but that had only been for a short amount of time. He could probably manage fine but.... he would be putting _them_ all in danger if he didn't say anything. They could always come back tomorrow, without him, it wasn't a big deal. “Harry?!” he shouted, sounding really worried now.

“I think I broke my ankle!” he shouted back up, aggravated.

There was a moment of silence and then, “Okay, stay where you are, we'll be right down!” Regis shouted.

He scoffed, slumping back against the wall. “Not like I can go anywhere,” he muttered, staring around at the empty room.

He drew his good leg up to his chest and rested his chin on it, closing his eyes for a moment before he heard the electronic humming around him grow as something not too far away began to grind and move. Grimacing, he forced himself to his feet, and drew a gun before he saw light and relaxed. Not daemons – just a group of idiots who thought exploring a daemon infested temple was a good idea.

The first thing he was greeted with was a bottle being jabbed into his leg and broken, foreign magic rushed through his body and immediately wiped away all the bruises and aches from his fall, and, he felt a weird shift in his foot, killing the pain in his ankle.

“Are you alright?” the Prince asked, practically fluttering around him as he tested his ankle, turning it this way and that before carefully applying weight.

He finally nodded, “Yeah. I'm good. Thank you.”

Just then there was a smacking noise, making him jolt a little and look over as Ass Face swore under his breath, furiously rubbing his head and glaring at Clarus who hadn't even glanced his way before hitting him upside the head. Harry narrowed his eyes on the pair.

“Let's go. We've wasted enough time,” Ezma declared shortly. She didn't look at him, but Harry bristled none the less at the implication.

The return trip was done in silence, and the group once again carefully edged along back to the stairwell and went down. Thankfully there were no daemons this time, they had not opted to respawn in the time they had been chasing Harry. They went down another level, destroyed a few more skeletons that Harry made sure to keep his distance from, and then down another level into a two tiered chamber. They came in on the second level, the room already dully-lit with faintly glowing crystalline lights on each of the arches.

Harry shuddered as soon as he walked in, there.... there was something in here besides them. Something that hadn't yet shown itself. He hated this room, it always felt like there was something waiting in here. For what he didn't have a FUCKING clue, but he hated it all the same.

“Reaper,” Ezma noted, spotting the scythe wielding daemon down below as she stalked forward. “Few skeletons. Nothing to be worried about, they can't get up – ”

The air tore with the sound of twisting metal as the ground beneath her feet turned black and sludge-like. The huntress threw herself forward before a huge black metal hand could punch its-way out of the sludge and grab her.

Harry cursed as an Iron Giant tore itself out of the stone in front of them.

Of all the bullshit–

It didn't last long with all seven of them going at it.

“Ugh. I hate those things,” Ezma complained bitterly as the last wisps of it faded away.

“Easier to take down in a group though,” Harry gasped, panting as he slumped against the railing. A skeleton down below jumped for him, chittering sinisterly when it couldn't get high enough. He rolled his eyes, “Fuck you too, boney little bastard,” he muttered dismissively before tugging his hipflask out.

“You brought _alcohol?_ ” Ass Face demanded in furious disbelief.

Harry snorted and swallowed his mouthful, “No, dumbass. I brought water in a container that's easy to store, unlikely to break, or cause me harm if I land on it wrong,” he snapped as he screwed the lid back on and shoved it into his back pocket. “I'm not _old_ enough to buy alcohol.”

“Enough chatter,” Ezma snapped, gesturing to them to hurry it up.

Groaning, Harry heaved himself back to his feet and chased after her. The two of them ignored the second chamber, leading the retinue past the small flight of stairs and straight into the third room where they turned left. The next chamber had two Reapers in, but between the seven of them they were quickly dealt with. Then came the bridge. The bridge that was crawling with skeletons. Harry hung back along with Weskham to pick them off while the others waded in. The otherside was.... the odd area.

“The walls are glowing,” Ass Face observed unhappily as they stepped into the round chamber. He glanced back at Harry who grimaced at him.

“I honestly don't know what's powered on this level except for maybe the gates, but the daemons have a bad habit of playing with them so I can't say for certain,” he admitted with a helpless shrug.

“Gates?” Clarus asked, Harry nodded and crouched down to draw a set of steps in the dirt.

“There's a weird metal disk set into the floor at these points,” he explained, pointing, “And connecting rooms here, here, here, and here. The daemons have figured out that if they drop the gates, you're stuck in there with them, so they'll wait until you get close before dropping them.”

“Daemons can't set traps,” Clarus told him shortly.

“Tell that to these ones,” Ass Face grunted kneeling down beside the crude drawing with a frown. “What kind of daemons are we looking at?” he asked flatly.

Harry scrubbed his hair, “Couldn't tell you. When I first came down it was skeletons and crème brulee the whole way but – ” he glanced at Ezma from the corner of his eye, she wasn't paying attention thankfully, “ – Kimya said that it was Reapers when she came down herself. There's a long standing mark in here for a Daemon Wall as well, Rank Nine. So I'd rather _not_ tangle with it.”

“Daemon Wall ain't going to be poppin' up this time'a'year,” Ezma corrected him as she peered into the gloom up ahead. “It only shows up in high-summer.”

“Well, that's some good news,” Clarus decided while Ass Face rolled his eyes and sniffed unhappily. Apparently someone wanted to try his blade against a Rank Nine Daemon Wall. Harry snorted a little in amusement, he was welcome to the near-death experience, thirty-eight thousand gil wasn't enough to _tempt_ him into taking the writ.

The gate was dropped, as predicted, by a group of skeletons. Quickly torn through and easily dispatched. The second gate was a trio of crème brulee in front, and two sneaking up from the back. It was a good thing they prepared for that and had a rear guard otherwise someone might have gotten caught unawares. The third gate was a pair of liches – and Ass Face swore as soon as he saw them.

“That's the green fire I saw at the bottom of the hole!” he snarled, looking unnerved as he drew his sword.

Ah. Yeah. It was too dark to see into the bottom of the hole on the upper levels, all save for the wheels of green fire that Harry practically landed on when he fell in.

They didn't last long enough to summon anything more than a single skeleton, and the group moved on, following the corridor around to a wide flight of stairs that lead down to several glowing elemental magic deposits.

“We're here,” Ezma declared, sheathing her sword and swinging her shield onto her back. “There's too much light coming in from the lake for daemons to occupy the lower floor,” she announced boldly walking down the last flight of stairs and beginning to strut her stuff through the huge hall. “The door's back here!” she shouted over her shoulder as she walked.

Harry lingered in the back as everyone moved away, carefully falling behind so that none of them noticed when he stopped following them. This was none of his business. Instead, he made his way to the carvings on the walls, the ones that were well lit enough for him to read. He ran his hands over them to clean off some of the dust and grit and tugged his notebook out of his backpocket where it padded the worst of the hard edges on his hipflask.

The Latin they used here was set up strangely. Typically Latin sentence structure was flexible, it didn't have words for 'the' or 'a', making a sentence like 'Harry is a farmer' and chopping it down to its most base form 'Harry is farmer'. It always followed subject-object-verb, but would sometimes change the order to subject-verb-object. In casual language use, such as in a conversation, it would _usually_ follow the structure of subject-object-verb, letting the listener know what the core particulars of the conversation were before bringing in what the speaker wanted to say about them.

From what he read of the Latin on these walls, they included extras tacked onto the end of their words, or between them, to indicate specific things such as subject (a symbol that he could translate into a 'ga' sound), topic (wa – it seemed to follow the key part of the sentence), object (oh), a possessive (a 'noh' sound), there was one that translated to a 'nii' sound but was used in multiple ways and was tripping him up some as he read, a location symbol (making a 'deh', or an 'eh' sound), and a questioning one (ka). It also demonstrated a _much_ stricter sentence structure, adhering completely to subject-object-verb structure, but occasionally leaving off the 'subject' of the sentence if it was clear from the context of the connecting text. It meant Harry was often left translating large paragraphs of text and trying to infer the subject based on something mentioned several lines further up. He imagined it would be easier to understand if he had more of a grounding on understanding this world than just what he'd learned in the last three months.

“BOY!!” Ezma roared, making him start hard enough that he nearly headbutted the wall. “GIT OVER HERE!”

Growling under his breath, he left the wall and made his way up the large flight of stairs and to the broken section of wall at the far left where the huge tree roots had broken through a wall.

Inside was a large dirt cavern, and a huge metal vault door that looked like it would have been more at home in a _bank_ back in the muggle world of _his_ home than beneath a temple here in Eos. In front of it Ezma looked fit to spit wasps and all around it the royal retinue were milling around. Ass Face had sat himself down in the dirt, sword propped against his shoulder, and Clarus had joined him. Cid was crouched in front of the vault door looking like Hermione did when she found a new logic puzzle to sink her teeth into. Weskham looked bored but was stood attentively at his somewhat worried looking Prince's side.

“You called?” he asked sarcastically, and was completely unprepared for the woman to grab his ear and yank him forward. “Ow! Ezma! What the fuck?!!”

“Don't get smart with me boy! You an' my sister have been messin' with this door!!” she screamed, shaking him.

He smacked her hand away and jerked backwards several steps so she couldn't grab him again, “Bitch! I haven't gone near your precious door!” he spat.

Her eyes narrowed, “But my sister _has_.”

He scoffed, “Why the fuck do you think it's still closed? She's took over reinforcing the enchantments after your grandmother died!” he snapped at her, “What, you honestly think this broken down temple still has the juice to keep the door shut?” he demanded, catching the expression on her face before looking at the blood on his fingers, fuck, she'd scratched him up good when he yanked away.

“What do you mean, enchantments?” Regis asked warily, having now apparently turned his brain on enough to realise that hey, surprise, magic.

Harry hissed as he rubbed his ear again, and then gestured to the door. “Kimya said that an Oracle died to seal the door shut. But she wasn't a very powerful one all things considered. The seal's been failing for years.”

Ezma hissed out furiously, “Idiot, idiot girl!”

“Can you read the symbols on the door, Harry?” Weskham asked as Ezma stormed off swearing and pulling at her hair.

Harry sneered at her retreating back and made his way over.

Ass Face snorted when he leaned in close, “What are you, blind?” he demanded.

“Fuck you,” Harry snapped as he squinted at the next few in the sequence, “I can't see further than a foot without my glasses and I lost them the day I got here. Shut up and let me work,” he demanded as he tugged out his notebook and flipped to the back.

“Wait, I beg your pardon, but do you mean to tell me that.... you require glasses, Harry?” Weskham asked faintly from somewhere behind him.

He grunted, “Yeah.”

“Kid. Y'all've been shootin' inta combat....” Cid pointed out disbelievingly.

He snorted and rolled his eyes as he made another note, “What, like it's hard?” he demanded shortly pushing hair out of his eyes as he moved to the otherside of the door and took a few more notes.

Try finding and catching a walnut while flying at three hundred miles an hour.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/ Latin sentence structure is flexible and I hated it in school. Japanese sentence structure is rigid, and the particles make it easy to infer meaning. So I mashed the two together to make the Solheim dialect of Latin - hence why Harry can read it, but it's a pain in the ass for him.  
> 2/ Patronus Charm: Harry lost his wand so he can't use a lot of magic. However, Limit Breaks and the Tech Bar are still a thing and Harry can still USE his magic, it just takes some prep time and specific tools to do properly. At the moment I only have three 'Limit Breaks' for him, four if you count just straight up Accidental Magic - Random Effect.
> 
> You CAN take this as a mini-guide to going through Steyliff Grove if you like, it's all accurate in terms of directions and fiends. However the worldbuilding regarding its history is mine. FFXV never goes into depth about Solheim and damnit I'm interested because I'm a nerd. So Reighost and I came up with our own shit for it.


	6. Chapter 6

He took his penlight from his mouth and tucked it behind his ear as he took a step back, “Done,” he announced to the group at large. “What do you want to know?” he asked looking between Weskham and Regis, the two unofficial brains of the retinue.

“How the fuck do you function?” Ass Face demanded.

“Because I have to. Next,” Harry called, dismissing him without looking.

“What can you tell us about the door?” Regis asked, “You said that Lady Auburnbrie needed to reinforce the enchantments. How is that possible without it killing her?” he asked anxiously.

Harry sighed, “Because it was never _supposed_ to kill,” he explained with a grimace as he flipped a few pages and pointed to the line in specific for the Prince to see, “These bunkers are supposed to be powered by teams of mages. This one is also hooked up to the temple's powerbanks.” He scratched his head with the pencil, before looking back at the door, “According to this, there's a hundred floors in all. But there _are_ side chambers, meaning that there is likely even more than that in total. It was meant as a kind of.... bomb shelter, to protect people and livestock if the Astral War got too out of hand,” he explained underlining a passage from the start of his translations. “It seemed like the people of Solheim believed that eventually the infernian would burn the world to ash, they weren't too certain about their own chances of survival. But I'm guessing by the fact that the Kings sealed daemons inside, it wasn't actually needed, or the people forgot what they were for and just started shoving the ones they couldn't kill in a box.”

Cid huffed, “Bomb shelters, eh? An' what happens when th'door closes? Y'all said they was supposed ter be powered by _teams_.”

“Teams....” Regis echoed quietly, rubbing his chin.

Harry nodded, “Yes. Once the power runs out, the door opens.” He scratched at his hair again with the pencil and squinted at his notes, “All the doors open once this one does. Each chamber was built with a – a cut off. Just in case of.... _infection?_ Disease. That may explain the offshoot chambers. A hundred floors is a lot of people in a very small space. One little cold could end up being lethal, never mind something like the black plague or ebola.”

“I must say I'm not familiar with those,” Weskham admitted, sounding a little lost. And Harry squirmed, remembering that these people were not _his_ people, and they weren't going to get the reference.

“Uh, black plague doesn't exist anymore but it killed a _lot_ of people. Ebola.... ebola is.... nasty. Bleeding from every orifice, extensive pain, uhm, rural communities have been wiped out by it. But the only reason it doesn't spread very much despite being so virulent is because it.... kills too quickly,” he explained awkwardly, “I don't think you have anything like it in Lucis though. Either way, gates were put in place on each of the chambers in case of infection – and they won't open again until all signs of infection are gone. So unless daemons carry disease, chances are as soon as that door opens, every single one in that hole will as well, and they'll all come piling out at once.”

“Good. We'll have them in the perfect choke-point,” Ass Face declared with a satisfied nod.

Harry nodded slowly, “Yes, but only if we can avoid being forced back,” he pointed out reasonably.

Ass Face frowned at him but nodded, “We could fall back.... but only the once. If they get into the main chamber, if any of them are capable of flight, they can just go out through the ceiling,” he theorised, “Except, daemons can't travel across or through water, they're incapable of it. They would be trapped here in Steyliff.”

“Until nightfall and they can just walk out through the door, or destroy the temple walls above them,” Clarus summed up grimly.

“And this isn't the only one,” Harry reminded them, “Kimya said there were others dotted around Lucis, and according to this there's.... eight of them, including this one. And despite what Dave tells me, I doubt they're all under conveniently still operational ruins.” He bit his lower lip and flipped back through the papers to what he had been able to translate from outside.

Life cycle, born from fire, laid to rest within water.  
Gift of the Infernian, the Summer King, the Winter Queen.  
Betrayal of man, the rise of daemons.  
The Astral War –

“Beneath the Dawn Tower,” he muttered, “Under the Eye of the Fulgurian; within the Glacian's Womb; at the bottom of the Draconian's Cleave; cradled within white stone upon the path of the Titan to the Angel; at the Foot of Star's Blessing.... I thought it was a poem so I stopped translating,” he complained tucking his pencil behind his ear and marching out of the underground room to return to the wall.

“Surely it would be faster just to _ask_ Auburnbrie?” Ass Face demanded as they all followed him out.

Harry ignored him, even though he was right, “Ask her then. See if she'll give you a straight answer,” he huffed returning to the wall and crouching down amidst the randomly growing flowerbed so he could find that fucking poem again.

“Where.... _is_ Madam Auburnbrie?” Clarus suddenly asked.

Regis snickered, “Missing her already?” he teased.

“Regis!” the Shield snapped.

“You enjoyed the attention,” the Prince teased, snickering behind a hand.

“No. No I didn't. I was scared the woman would assault me and none of you would do anything to stop her,” he bitched furiously with a theatrical shudder.

“I'd protect you,” Harry assured him absently as he finally found the fucking poem and began to note it down. “If only because Dave would flip his shit, and get in trouble for stabbing you.”

“And Dave is?” Regis asked curiously, “Clarus's love rival?” he asked eagerly.

“God no. Ezma's son. And just so you know, there's no space in the house. Everyone has to share rooms, so if you actually fucked Ezma, you'd have to do it in Kimya's bed too,” he explained before pointing a pencil at him, “And at that point, forget Dave, _I'd_ stab you. Because that would mean she would take my bed, and I'd be stuck with Dave again. He's a _cuddler_ , Clarus. A cuddler. In this heat. Fuck. That.”

The Shield lifted his hands defensively, snickering, “Alright, alright. No fucking the Auburnbrie sisters because you'd end up stuck in bed with a cuddler. Because that's the most important thing.”

Harry nodded and returned to his notes, “Glad we have an understanding.”

“Eight'a these bunkers...” Cid mused as he sprawled on the steps next to Ass Face who looked even more sour than usual, glaring down at his boots, katana propped against his shoulder. “Eight Oracles. An' y'all say _teams_ were supposed ter power these doors?” he demanded unhappily.

“According to the writing,” Harry agreed absently as he worked his way through the sentence with a a scowl. Beneath the Great Serpent's Arch? Or the Leviathan's Arch? No. Great Serpent, it used a different terminology and lacked the.... the _title?_ that the writings used in connection to the Astrals. “That could have been only from the _inside_ , though. Remember, they're bunkers. People were supposed to go _inside_ and lock the doors. Not from the outside. Maybe going in from the other direction took more power. I can just read the language, I don't know shit about how their tech works.”

Those women needn't have died. Their magic had been _ripped_ out of them to seal the doors shut, drained dry down to the bones. They died screaming for nothing.

“So, there really were other magic users...” Regis concluded softly.

Harry paused, put his pencil down, and turned to stare at him in disbelief, had he _really_ not –

“Kimya,” he stated flatly, staring at him. Regis blinked at him. Harry stared. Regis blinked again and immediately Harry scowled, “Are you thick or do you just not listen?” he demanded harshly.

“Harry,” Weskham scolded disapprovingly.

“Oi, watch your mouth,” Ass Face growled, getting to his feet.

Harry scoffed, “You're stood there talking about other magic users, and yet you don't even _blink_ when you walk in on Kimya healing my ribs, when we casually talk about her enchanting weapons, on reinforcing the enchantments on the door – you kind of _need_ magic to do that shit,” he pointed out caustically.

Regis chuckled, “Oh, that, no, the Auburnbries' are a branch family of the Nox Fleurets'. They have Oracle blood, but its too watered down for them to take up any of their duties.”

No they didn't. He had asked Kimya himself back when he was still trying to figure this weird world out and she told him point blank that no, the Auburnbries' had never had any kind of connection to the line of the Oracles. The Nox Fleurets', the Mirus Fleurets', or even the Lucis Fleurets'. But, Harry eyed the group suspiciously as he slowly picked his pencil back up. Apparently the Auburnbries' had lied to their monarch about that. Why though? Protection? Kimya told him that the gods were real, that they bestowed magic onto lines of their choosing, that in the old years a God would patron a noble house, bestow their gifts divine upon the people, and they would act as that god's agents upon the world. Bahamut, the god of war, had given two houses his blessings in the trying times, the house of the Oracles, to be healers and protectors of the light, and the line of Kings, those whom he had decided would have the right to rule divine. Regis was of that line.

...How would the gods react if they found out there were humans with magic _not_ tied to one of them?

Well, if it were anything like people did in his world, _badly_ would be an understatement.

“If you say so,” he said after a moment, turning his attention back to the wall and his translation. He hadn't planned on revealing his own magical nature, but with this in mind, he figured he was going to have to keep it much more discreet. Dragon Dicks had already tried to trap him into what was _basically_ enforced 'divine' servitude. Fuck him using his Representative House to try again.

He huffed, and focused on his work. Embraced beneath the Hydrean's Roof. Well, that one was obvious. That line clearly referred to Steyliff Grove.

“Okay, that's all of them, but... fuck if I could tell you where they all are,” he stated, “Embraced beneath the Hydrean's Roof is obviously this one, Steyliff,” he explained, gesturing to the water above their heads. “The other one is Beneath the Great Serpent's Arch. And then there's the six I mentioned before, the Dawn Tower, the path between Titan and Angel, at the Draconian's Cleave, beneath the Eye of the Fulgurian, Glacian's Womb, and Star's Blessing.”

“Taelpar Crag or Ostium Gorge could be the Draconian's Cleave,” Clarus mused.

“White stone on the path of Titan to Angel..... the Balouve Mines?” Ass Face suggested with a frown, “Angelgard is at the bottom of the hill, and the mine's famous for excavating white marble and quartz,” he pointed out.

“Dawn Tower's definitely Costlemark,” Cid concluded with a huff of annoyance, “S'first place in Duscae that sees the dawn every mornin'.”

“Eye of the Fulgurian would be Fociaugh, no doubt. And the Greyshire Grotto is supposed to be a cavern entirely of ice. Though, this is the first time I've heard it connected to Shiva,” Weskham admitted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Star's Blessing – Keycatrich,” Regis stated softly. “It's where the Draconian gave the Oracles and the Lucis Caelum's their magic. The shrine still stands even now.”

Harry made his notes of each location and tore the page out, holding it up for Regis. “Here.”

He took it and whisked it into his weird magic pocket, “Thank you Harry. What else do the walls say?” he asked, peering at them.

“Eh, just history. The life cycle, the Astrals and their powers, magical houses and who affiliated with whom, Ifrit ruling over Solheim as the Summer King, along with his Winter Queen, the daemons appearing and how he concluded it was a betrayal of man, the war,” Harry listed, pointing to the sections of wall in front of them.

Ass Face scoffed, “There's nothing there. You really _are_ blind.”

Harry glanced at him, “You sure about that?” he asked, and then pressed a hand against the wall, giving it... just a little juice. Just a little.

The wall rippled with text, like moving a sheet of paper to let the shiny parts catch the light. The words were all there, but they had faded into the stone without any magic, it was why he spent so long cleaning all the crap off of it whenever he translated, it gave him the chance to feel it out with magic and give it just enough ambient magic to see the careful crystalline impressions. In a place with more power, more magic, it would undoubtedly be completely visible no matter how magically inclined a person was. But here? Here you needed magic to even know there was text on the walls it was so bone dry and desperate for power.

He smirked at the other teenager, “Looks like I'm not the one who needs glasses here,” he taunted feeling a swell of smug glee at the way Ass Face's expression crumpled with anger.

An ear-splitting near-metallic shriek pierced the air.

Harry shoved his notebook in his back pocket, “Time to go,” he declared with almost faux casualness before sprinting back the way they came.

“Hey!”

He waited just long enough for them to catch up at the foot of the stairs, “Hurry it up, I'd rather not explain to Ezma we killed her pet murder bird!” he complained before turning and taking the stairs two at a time.

“Fuck, slow down would you?!” Clarus cursed, huffing and puffing as he tried to keep up on the sheer staircase. Clearly these guys had never actually been forced to contend with medieval architecture and their obsession with eight inch by five inch steps.

He stopped, to give them time to catch up, only to have Ass Face barge into him from behind.

“The hell did you stop?” the fifteen year old demanded, eyes practically glowing ice blue in the light from his stupid little LED chest-clip.

“So they don't get lost,” Harry scoffed, jerking a thumb at the old geezers following them up the stairs.

Ass Face glanced at them and at this distance even Harry could see the look of annoyance that crossed his face. Both of them twitched as there was another roar echoing up the chamber from the hall they just left, accompanied by a rush of air as something big hit the ground behind them. They retraced their steps through the temple, thankfully they only had to deal with a handful of skeletons on their way back out, the other daemons having apparently decided to remain where they were, or Ezma dealt with them on her way out – which was more likely, thinking about it.

Dawn had long risen by the time they finally burst out of the temple, the air was fresh, damp, and full of green smells. And all of them cursed as they were practically blinded stepping outside. When Harry looked over his shoulder, the opening they came out of was sealed shut with stone, as if there had never been a door in the first place. Like many doors in Hogwarts, that one was actually a wall that pretended to be a door, one that could only open in the dark.

Harry stretched happily in the light, ignoring the retinue behind him as he made his way down the stairs and into the water – it was going to be a pain in the ass drying his boots after this. Maybe he could talk Kimya into letting him have some of her herb water for him to wash his feet with? He didn't want to get trench foot. Not again. Literally the most painful year of his young life, even Aunt Petunia had to cave and get him an antifungal cream from the pharmacy and more than one pair of socks. What no one ever warns you about trench foot is how fucking ITCHY it was. Itchy to the point of painful, and of course if you itched, you took up skin and it just got worse from there, your feet literally rotting and flaking.

“You know, Harry, if you wish to get yourself some glasses, Lestallum has a doctor who could see to you,” Weskham offered as they slogged through knee-high lake water.

Harry sniffed, “Somehow, I don't think I can afford it.” He definitely couldn't afford it. Aunt Petunia complained non-stop about how much his prescription glasses cost her, bitching him out because she couldn't just get a pair of reading glasses from the pharmacy aisle of the local supermarket. Apparently he couldn't get them for free, or at reduced cost, because he didn't have any official papers for her to make any claims on his behalf, legally speaking, he did not exist in the Dursleys' household until he started school. He didn't even have an NHS number, or a National Insurance I.D. – Uncle Vernon raised unholy hell about that when he found out because it meant that Harry wouldn't be paying tax on his earnings, it was only when Aunt Petunia pointed out that he wouldn't be able to make any benefits claims that he shut up about it.

“They are a medical aid, Harry, you wouldn't have to pay for them,” Weskham pointed out kindly.

“And if you did, I'd pay. Consider it a tip from your grateful Monarch-To-Be!” Regis chimed in behind them with a laugh.

“No thanks,” Harry grunted flatly as he dodged around a tree.

“Aww, you'll hurt my feelings if you say no!” the Prince exclaimed, rushing through the water to sling an arm around him, “Besides, you're already pretty scary without them. I know I'm not the only one here who wants to know what you're made of _with_ them. Ain't that right, Cor?” he called over his shoulder with a grin.

“If you mean that he might not be accident prone deadweight, then yes, your Highness,” Ass Face agreed coolly.

It was only Regis' arm over his shoulder suddenly clamping down that stopped Harry from tackling the bastard and drowning him in the lake then and there. “Play nicely you two!” the Prince scolded, grinning wildly a second before Harry hooked a foot behind his ankle and yanked it out from under him. He yelped as he toppled backwards into the water, dragging Harry along with him much to the hilarity of everyone else. He didn't think that one through. He grabbed a fistful of mud and smushed it into the Prince's hair, because fuck him.

Regis spluttered in complete disbelief as Harry scrambled away from him, leaving him with mud dripping down his face, and forcing Clarus to lean against the nearest tree before he fell into the water he was laughing so hard.

A second later Ass Face was spluttering and jerking backwards, flailing and swearing when Harry nailed him in the face with a second mudball, forcing him to spit half of it out because, even without glasses, his aim was damn good and he got the little shit mid-laugh, mouth open. That was when Cid started cackling, and Ass Face visibly went bright red with fury.

“GET BACK HERE YOU ASSHOLE!!”

Harry bolted, and Ass Face followed.

It – was probably more fun than it should have been, Harry decided with a wild grin as he dove into the undergrowth. He _knew_ this basin, and while he could be an absolute _asshole_ and lead him directly into a number of fiend nests and territories, he decided against it. He charged down a deer path and took a sharp turn around a building, grabbing one of the sapling branches and bending it back – he could hear footsteps coming up and he released the branch just as Ass Face turned the corner.

He cackled as the bastard ate tree leaves and ran for it.

He lead the asshole on a merry chase through the undergrowth, crisscrossing their path back to the car, providing the retinue with some entertainment as he leaped bodily from the small hill over the path, and rolled into the undergrowth on the otherside, Ass Face charging out of the trees after him bellowing like a wounded animal. It didn't help that on occasion Harry would snatch some manner of toad or large bug from the trees or bushes as he passed to lob over his shoulder at him.

When he finally decided to lead the rampaging bull behind him back to the car, he personally was a bit wet, he had mud up one leg where he slipped down an embankment and skidded all the way to the mud-flats. _Ass Face on the other hand_ , looked like some kind of mud-golem slathered in leaves because Harry had not been kind to him in the slightest. He tripped and _landed_ in the mud-flats, Harry had thrown handfuls of it at him, sped past and mushed it in his hair, dropped toads on him, threw handfuls of ants-nest at him, and whacked him in the face with an awful lot of tree branches. Maybe next time he wouldn't call someone fucking _deadweight_ and not expect to have that someone get their revenge. As for accident prone, it was called bad luck, something he had in abundance.

Cid took one look at him, and then at Cor and scowled. “Y'all ain't sittin' in the car like _that_!” he snapped.

“Ass Face can sit in Regis' lap, since he was so upset earlier,” Harry quipped with a wide grin as he slithered to the otherside of Weskham before Ass Face could stab him.

The Prince turned to his mud-golem and held out his hands with a beaming smile, “Cuddle time!” he declared, and got a faceful of mud for his kindness.

Harry snorted, and then squawked when a split second later a snake was sailing through the air into his face. The poor little thing was screeching in terror as it hit him in the damn mouth and – god, that was an experience. Actually having something begging him not to be eaten even as it writhed in his mouth. He turned and crouched spitting the little thing into his hands, it, _she_ , was actually a pretty little thing, barely the thickness of a pencil and coloured milky white and dusty red-orange, and now coiling herself in his palms screaming threats to bite him. Just see if she didn't! He tries to eat her again she'll make him choke on her! She'll bite his throat out! Eat him whole!

Weskham was shouting at Ass Face and not paying him any attention. He figured he was safe enough to sooth her.

He shouldn't have found her sheer alarm and brain-breaking confusion over a _flatface_ actually _talking_ as funny as it was. But he did, snickering quietly and murmuring an apology for the idiot that threw her at him, he didn't mean to nearly eat her, promise. He didn't eat things that talked back in ways he could understand. She flicked her tongue at him in understanding, that would be uncomfortable, she agreed. Did she know where the idiot grabbed her so he could put her back? Or would she be alright finding her own way here?

Actually, she informed him loftily, but with poorly concealed anxiety as her neck began to coil once more, he seemed like an intelligent kind of flatface, and he could talk which was a first, so she would be coming with him. He was free to thank her.

“Harry? It didn't bite you did it?” Weskham inquired, peering down and twitching when he saw him still holding the serpent in his cupped hands, her coils tangled around his fingers.

He twitched and slowly stood up, “No, she was just scared. No bites. But, uh, she – doesn't seem to want to get off me now,” he admitted, listening to her proudly declare that since fate had thrown them together they must have been meant to be, literally thrown. She always _had_ been the smartest of her clutchmates, the dull morons, and she always knew she was destined for greatness, but becoming the companion of a talking flatface was so far out of the realms of her imagination she was absolutely giddy. Could he please move into the sun a little bit? She'd heard flatfaces were warm, but he wasn't, so she guessed it was probably a lie, even though he seemed warm – could he put her where the warm was? As her flatface it was his duty to keep her warm when she wished.

Harry grinned at her, “She's cute. I'm keeping her, thanks Ass Face,” he said, smirking over at him.

Harry had never seen someone more confused and pissed off at the same time, the other men looked just as bewildered by his decision.

“You – really shouldn't just pick up wild animals and take them home,” Clarus pointed out seriously.

“Then maybe someone shouldn't be throwing wild animals around,” Harry quipped lightly as he gently tucked the little lady into his shirt pocket. She was immediately approving because it was warm, she then told him that she would bite him if he squished her, and he would die, so he had better not squish her because then she would be sad when she killed him. He snickered, and then outright laughed at the look of outrage on Ass Face.

“You did it first!” he exclaimed furiously, pointing at him.

Harry looked him dead in the eye.

“Prove it.”

 

* * *

 

Harry kept the snake, Ass Face swapped his muddy uniform for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from the weird magic pockets they kept the rest of their stuff, Regis did the same and appeared in a new suit, and by the time they were all piling into the car Harry ended up sat in Regis' lap for the return trip as the only one who didn't mind being in close proximity to the snake.

Unfortunately the man was a fucking cuddler, so Harry's return trip was considerably more uncomfortable than he would have liked. Especially when the man wouldn't stop _touching him_.

“Seriously, do you ever eat?” he demanded, hands moving up and down Harry's waist, “There's literally nothing of you!”

“Would you cut that out?” the Gryffindor growled.

“I could wrap my hands around your waist and touch my fingertips together!” he exclaimed in disbelief, and then proceeded to do exactly that, wrapping both hands around Harry's middle and squeezing until his fingertips touched – and Harry lost his temper and elbowed him in the face.

“Stop molesting me!” he snarled, and then scooted quite firmly _off_ the Prince. He clambered quickly to go and sit on Clarus whom he could at least be 100% certain would keep his goddamn hands to himself.

“Okay,” Regis muttered, holding his bleeding nose, “I deserved that.”

“You did,” Weskham agreed in an aggravated tone from up front. “Cor, please take note, when a young man or woman says no, respect that and _stop whatever you're doing_.”

Ass Face scowled, “I'm not a barbarian, Weskham. I would never force anything onto someone like that,” he snapped defensively.

“ _Good_ ,” Harry hissed with an evil glare at Regis, “Otherwise you might get _stabbed_ instead of elbowed.”

The Prince wilted a little, “I am sorry Harry, I was just alarmed. You are worryingly light and very thin.”

“Yer not wrong about that,” Cid agreed from the front seat, “Boney ass not with-standin' ya weigh about as much as my daughter did at half yer age.”

“Bullshit,” Harry snapped defensively. “I eat fine!”

Clarus jogged a knee, and Harry physically left the man's lap for a split second before landing again with a squawk. “Nope. You weigh even less than my sword does.”

“ _That_ is five feet of steel, Clarus! Of _course_ it's going to weigh more than me!” the Gryffindor snarled.

“But I can't feel my sword's ribs though,” the man pointed out dryly and Harry groaned in disgust.

And then snapped, slapping the man's hand away from his side, “Would you all _fuck off_ about my weight?!” he snarled before shifting into Ass Face's lap instead.

“Get the fuck off me!” the teenager growled, shoving at him.

“Hell no, you're the only one in this car that isn't putting his hands where they aren't wanted!” he snapped, shifting so he was physically sat more in the footwell than on him. “Just deal with it until we get to Meldacio, then we'll never have to deal with each other again,” he snapped as they passed into the tunnel.

There was a moment of silence and then, “Ugh, fine. You owe me,” the teenager grunted.

“Whatever,” Harry grumbled, knees drawn up to his chest arms folded on top of them, scowling unhappily. This was reminding him of the worst family holidays he had ever taken with the Dursleys and Dudley's friends – because he _always_ ended up sat in the footwell, and he always got kicked by all three fucking shits sat behind him.

There was a moment of silence, and then a harsh smack followed by a yelp from Regis.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut in annoyance wondering when the _fuck_ Sirius was going to fucking get here and take him home.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Meldacio, sweet Meldacio, land of the _non-assholes who minded their own business and kept their hands to them-_

Dave grabbed him the second he got out of the car, “I need to talk to you!” he grunted, physically yanking him away from the Retinue.

Harry stumbled with a yelp, almost falling and having to cup a hand over his shirt pocket to prevent his little snake from spilling out. “Dave! What – ” He paused, eyes widening when he was dragged past the house and saw a pick-up parked out front, the door was open, and he could hear raised voices inside.

“What th'hell happened in Steyliff?” Dave demanded in an underdone when they finally came to a stop, he looked wrecked with anxiety and confusion. “Ma won't talk t'me, she came in jes' after dawn, spittin' like a gaiatoad wit' th'hiccups and three times as angry. She hasn't stopped screamin' at Auntie since, an' now they're throwin' things around.”

He felt his stomach twist and go cold, “She hasn't hit Kimya, has she?” he demanded, seizing the older boy's arm tightly, so help him, if she raised a hand to Kimya he would not be held responsible for his actions!

Dave shook his head, “No. Came close, I think. Harry, what _happened?_ ”

The Gryffindor dragged a hand through his hair, “Ezma found out we fixed the door.” Dave sucked in a startled breath and Harry shook his head, “It's fine now. The power on it was failing, so Kimya gave it more magic.”

Dave looked really worried now, “She's not allowed to leave Meldacio,” he hissed in an undertone, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting one of the senior hunters to appear over his shoulder and chew them out for even discussing the subject. Harry scoffed in annoyance only to have the seventeen year old shake his head, “No, she's _not allowed t'leave_. She's th'only magic user we got here, we can't risk her on the road or out onna hunt,” he whispered frantically, “S'an oath the Auburnbrie ladies take when they become hunters.” Ladies, meaning specifically the magic users of the family. There was a reason why there was a distinct difference in address between Kimya and Ezma, and that was the reason. Still. An _oath?_

“Who's this oath to?” he demanded in an undertone and Dave shrugged.

“I don't rightly know. One o'th'Astrals.” Dragon Dick most likely. That would explain why people thought the Auburnbries' were connected to the Oracles if they were patroned by the same god. “Th'Lady Auburnbrie is t'support th'warriors a Lucis, but never t'take a blade herself.” Also explained why Kimya decided that punching daemons was the way to go instead of stabbing them. Then again, given how one touch from her was usually enough to pop them like a soap-bubble, she didn't really _need_ a sword or dagger or gun.

Harry sighed, “I would have thought circumstances being what they were the rules could be bent a little when it prevents an entire horde of fucking daemons from flooding Cleigne,” he pointed out flatly, folding his arms and giving Dave his least impressed look, channelling Professor McGonagall at her most thin-lipped and unamused as he arched an eyebrow at him.

The seventeen year old shrugged helplessly, “Ma's big on th'rules,” he muttered in defence of her.

Harry scoffed, “Yeah. At the expense of everyone else, apparently.”

“Hey,” Dave scowled unhappily but Harry ignored him as he turned and made his way to the house. The seventeen year old grabbed him again, “I – wouldn't,” he warned with a grimace. “Ma wouldn't hit her own sister, but, yer fair game.”

Harry shook him off, “Someone needs to support Kimya,” he pointed out coolly, “I don't know what oaths are sworn, but when they get in the way of saving people, then they're not worth sticking to.”

“But th'gods – ”

“We killed our gods,” Harry stated flatly, drawing Dave up short with horror, he twisted his wrist free, “And with good reason.” And then stalked into the house.

It looked like a hurricane had gone through it, clothes littered the floor, pictures had been pulled off the walls and thrown down the hallway, for such a tiny space, the two sisters had completely _destroyed_ it. He paused in the hallway, expecting to hear shouting, but the house had fallen into icy silence and he could hear the sound of furious motion in the sisters' room.

Creeping quietly past the gutted kitchen and bathroom, wincing a little to see broken glass and food all over the floor in the kitchen, and the medicine cabinet emptied and scattered in the skin and the bath-tub, he peeked into the bedroom, being careful not to be seen. Ezma had her back to him, her arms were folded and her shoulders were set as she watched her older sister furiously pack her clothes and – and her potions? Harry skimmed the rest of the room in rising alarm when he realised that the jewellery box Kimya inherited from her grandmother was missing, the framed photograph of the sisters was broken and the picture in shreds across the floor, the little crystal light-catcher in the window was gone, there was a _knife_ , one of Ezma's, sticking out of the cupboard door near Kimya's head, and there were two suitcases on the bed, one already full, the other almost.

It hit him like a bolt out of the blue then.

Her hands were shaking as she shoved petticoats into the suitcase along side thick winter socks and the woollen shawls she would often crochet when the evenings were quiet, even her knitting supplies were in there, the familiar floral patterned blue bag visible in the corner of the suitcase next to her knives and her pill-roller, and the apothecary box that usually sat in the corner of the living room.

Harry leaned back in the hall, feeling cold and sick at the same time, mind curiously blank.

What was the punishment for breaking that oath? He wondered kind of distantly. Probably death, or banishment. Which meant.... Kimya was leaving, probably forever.

He turned around and went into the room he shared with Dave, and he started to pack.

He would leave word with Portuttle to keep an eye out for Sirius. The Tipster network was not to be underestimated. Not to mention every single Hunter knew he was waiting for his family to come and find him, if they found some dumbass wandering around the Vesperpool without any weapons or a clue of where they were or what anything was, they would probably equate said dumbass with him – because he had been exactly the same. It wasn't the end of the world. He didn't have much to take, most of what he did was collapsing the camping bed and stripping his blankets down to be washed, folding them up, and putting them away neatly. Aside from a single change of clothes, his papers, the trinkets he earned upping his Hunter Rank and from marks, he didn't own an awful lot, they all fit within one backpack without problem.

He left the house and tossed his backpack into the front-passenger seat of the truck before going to talk to Portuttle.

“What can I do ya for?” the Tipster asked kindly, “Haven't got any Marks in the Vesper right now, unfortunately.”

Harry shook his head, “No. I'm leaving. I just wanted to say thanks for everything,” he admitted holding a hand out to him. If he was surprised, he didn't look it, shaking his hand without fanfare or fuss. “If you see an idiot wandering around Vesper without weapons or a damn clue about what's going on, do you think you can keep an eye on them? It might be someone looking for me.”

The tipster nodded agreeably, “Sure thing. You take care now. Both of ya,” he added solemnly. Ah, so he already knew.

The Gryffindor nodded, ignoring the strange fizzling in the pit of his stomach, “Will do.”

He gave the man a brief wave and made his way back to the truck, climbing in to sit in the front seat.

Not a moment too soon apparently because a moment later Kimya came storming out of the house with her suitcases and roughly threw them into the back. Ezma stood in the doorway of the house watching with grim eyes and a scowl as her older sister rounded to the front of the truck in stiff angry silence and climbed in, slamming the door with a bang. She keyed the ignition and only then realised she wasn't alone, jumping near enough out of her skin and staring at him. He looked back, and then pointedly drew his seatbelt over and clicked it in.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then turned her attention back to the road. Harry turned his attention back to Ezma who had maybe a single split second of surprise on her face when she saw him in the car with her sister, before her expression soured with outrage when he stuck his middle finger up at her. It wasn't a gesture he had seen in Eos, he didn't know if it really carried the same inflective here, he didn't care. His general attitude probably got the message across if the look of anger on her face was any indication.

Harry got a glimpse of the Retinue coming out of the general store, Ass Face was the only one to spot him in the truck as it peeled out and left Meldacio.

Kimya held it together for a good half an hour, the two of them sitting in silence as they passed through the tunnel heading out of Meldacio going south, around the tight turns that took them down the mountain.

“I'm sorry, I just – I need a minute,” she finally gasped raggedly as they reached a farm lay-by. She hit the indicator and pulled in, killing the engine, and then practically collapsing over the steering wheel, her face in her hands, sobbing wretchedly. Harry undid his seatbelt and scooted over to her, throwing an arm around her back and pressing in close. She shuddered and then turned, hugging him tightly and crying into his shoulder.

He should have _lied_.

He should have told Ezma that _he_ was the one that fucked with the door. He could be kicked out no problem, he didn't have a home here _anyway_ , it didn't _matter_ where he went. Kimya could have kept an eye out for idiots in the Vesper for him, and he could have come and collected them from the _other_ entrance to the valley. Gods, he was such an idiot, he should have used his fucking _brain_.

No amount of sorry's in the world was going to make this right.

He had made her homeless.

 

* * *

 

Kimya eventually pulled herself together, wiping her face and apologising thickly for crying on him, and then stared out at the road in front of them looking lost. This... was probably the first time she had ever left Meldacio in her life.

“How about.... we go to Lestallum and get a map, and something to eat?” Harry suggested gently. They were going to need a map to figure out where they were going, or what to do, and if they were in a city then they wouldn't have to worry about daemons on the road. It _was_ mid-afternoon, and he didn't know how long it would take them to drive to Lestallum which was supposed to be the closest thing to Meldacio.

She sniffed and nodded, “Yes. Good idea. Sorry, I'm not – I'm not all t'gether righ' now, am I?” she asked with a wet laugh, roughly wiping her cheeks again.

“You're fine,” Harry promised.

She sniffed again, and turned the ignition on.

They drove slowly, both because neither of them were sure where they were going, and also because they were trying to see everything around them, from the newly built farm that seemed to have corralled a few Anak, to the lush greenery that lined the road as they passed – given how everything in the Vesper looked like it was cut out of a magazine about the Amazon, Harry was stunned to see trees and bushes that wouldn't have looked out of place in _England_ lining the road.

And then they reached a t-junction and Harry couldn't stop himself from gasping a little, that was _one hell of a canyon_.

“Well now,” Kimya murmured in awe, “Ain't _that_ sum'thin'.”

“Yeah,” Harry laughed a little, and then reached up to shove the sunroof open so he could get a better look as she turned right, following the canyon along the mountainside. “What's that white thing in the crater?!” Harry shouted over the wind.

“The Disc of Cauthess! A huge meteor tha' almost destroyed th'world! Th'Archean caught it t'save us, and now he sleeps with it on his back!” Kimya called up to him, “I ain't never _seen_ it in person!” she added excitedly.

“And those arches?” he called, spotting two huge arcs of rock that must have stretched out for _miles_ over the countryside.

“They don' have names! Folk say they were made when th'Meteor fell!”

Harry made a noise of interest and then flinched a little in surprise when everything went dark, they passed into a tunnel that he hadn't seen because he was too busy ogling the scenery. Then they reached Lestallum, it was a nice town, not the city he expected from the way people spoke about it, they drove down a small incline to a carpark and found a spot to park. Kimya killed the engine and Harry quickly jumped out, rushing eagerly to the railing to get a better look only to spot a second level down below. He glanced over his shoulder to see her following him and quickly charged down the steps, two at a time, to get to the side, a few people near-by chuckled as he dodged around them.

Kimya still had wet and red eyes, but she was smiling as she came up beside him.

“Taelpar Crag,” she told him, gesturing to the huge canyon, “Created by th'Draconian during th'Astral War when he struck a mighty blow against the Infernian.”

Dragon Dick – did _this?_

Harry stared at the massive gouge and felt his skin crawl with unease. If Dragon Dick could do _this_ , then _what_ did he need _Harry_ for?

What _did_ he need Harry for?

He already had _two_ magical houses, the _only_ magical houses remaining. The only official ones anyway.

It had been three months, fuck, he couldn't remember what the bastard had said. Something about.... the touch of light on him? A human belonging to the heavens? Fuck his memory wasn't normally this shitty, had – had he _done_ something to him? They had touched, briefly, they had even made eye-contact and if he'd learned anything from Snape's occlumency lessons, eye contact could be a dangerous thing. A taunt, or a show of trust. Had Giant Dragon Dicks done something to him in those spare moments when he was snatched out of the air and held, _literally_ in the palm of his hand? At least until he yanked himself away, he remembered that, he used his own magic and wrapped it around himself and shoved away from him.

He remembered saying.... something.

Why couldn't he remember?

Ugh, fuck his brain, the useless lump of fuck.

“Harry?” Kimya asked, jerking him out of his thoughts.

“Ah, sorry, you were saying?” he asked, quickly turning to her.

“I was sayin' we should prob'ly look int'a gettin' tha' map ya mentioned, an' meybe sum'thin' t'eat?” she suggested lightly, Harry nodded eagerly, he wanted to explore the town a little more.

The two of them stood out quite a bit as they wandered around, Harry in his obvious hunter leathers, and Kimya in her old fashioned skirts and crochet shawl, but people were friendly and more than willing to greet them, answer any questions or offer information if they even _looked_ a little lost. Harry ended up chatting to a guy who gave them a complete guided tour of the whole town, explaining about how it all popped up around the meteor shard that broke away from the Meteor of the Six that the Archean still held aloft. A Professor of Geology studying the crystal formations in the Taelpar Crag realised that the massive meteor shard produced enough energy to power the whole of Duscae and even Cleigne, and pushed through to set up the EXINERIS plant. The guy, Ludo, even went so far as to tell Kimya that if she was looking for work his mother worked at the plant and could put in a word for her.

“I wouldn' have th'first _clue_ on how't work a plant,” the woman laughed.

“Well, the only pre-requisite is to be a woman, the rest they can train you on,” he told her eagerly, casting a glance at Harry. “Unfortunately, no one knows why, but the radiation from the meteor doesn't agree with guys long-term. It's not well known outside the plant workers. There was a lot of trouble in the early days because the Professor could work on it no problem but all of her assistants were getting sick except her secretary and her wife. It kinda got a bit obvious when her female under-grads showed up and were perfectly fine while the guys got sick pretty quick. Guess the meteor just prefers a woman's touch,” he admitted with a snicker.

He took them around and introduced them to the three tipsters in town, where Cutlass had finally set up a shop, he also showed him to the crazy artesian in the back-alley who took one look at Harry and physically swooned.

“ _You! Boy!_ You have the touch o' _greatness_ on you!” he exclaimed.

Harry grabbed Kimya by the wrist, “What's that over there?” he demanded, his voice strangled as he quickly rushed them down a side-alley, Ludo grinning wildly when Harry grabbed his arm and dragged him along as well. “Who the hell was _that_?” the Gryffindor demanded plaintively, “And why did he sound like he was an inch away from dry-humping my leg?”

Ludo burst out laughing at that, “Th-that's Rudolph, he's a blacksmith. He went a bit coocoo, he's searching for a 'legendary warrior' to bring him materials so he can forge the _greatest weapons ever_ ,” he explained with a snort. “Never seen him react like _that_ though. Guess I'm not the only one who liked what he saw,” the teenager teased, nudging Harry with his elbow.

...what.

Kimya coughed, and had to turn away, hand over her mouth as Ludo cheerfully left the alley while Harry stared after him in sudden realisation and confusion. He turned to the woman, “Has he – ” he asked, she nodded, “The whole – ” she nodded again, and burst out laughing as his eyebrows spasmed and his whole face went red.

Shit, he didn't know how to – how – how did he react to this? How did he even feel about this, actually?

The huntress chuckled and patted him on the back, “You don't have t'say or do anythin' y'all don't want to, Harry. Jes' because a young man smiles, an' is polite, or shows interest, don't entitle him to yer time or energy. Be polite o'course, if 'e's been polite t'you, s'only manners after all. But y'all ain't _obligated_ by nuthin',” she assured him, gently cupping his cheek, and then fussing over his hair.

He nodded shakily, still stunned. People didn't just.... they _weren't_ interested in him. If strangers bothered to talk to him it was because of that whole Boy Who Lived bullshit. Cho was only interested in him because... because he had been the one there when Cedric died and she kind of... transplanted him, as if his witnessing that death made them interchangeable or something. No one had ever been _romantically_ interested in him on his own merit, or, or even thought of him as physically attractive either. He was, as Fred put it, a ' _scrawny speccy little git_ '.

Speaking of specs, actually –

“Uhm, Ludo?” he asked, the two of them quickly leaving the alley where they spotted him only a few paces away. “Could you show us somewhere I can get some glasses?” Harry asked.

“Glasses? As in – eye glasses?” he asked curiously, the Gryffindor nodded, “Sure. We can go the long way to avoid Rudolph,” he teased with a grin and Harry felt himself go pink and scowl at him. He laughed, “You're cute when you blush.”

And Harry went _bright_ red, he could literally feel his face steaming. “That – ” he yelped, and huffed uncomfortably, looking away, “Could you please show us the way?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Ludo just laughed and gestured at them to follow him, Kimya giggled a little and linked her arm with his.

The shop they were taken to was a tiny little artesian place run out of a guy's living room where Ludo bade them goodbye and told Harry that if he ever wanted to hang out again, he was free in the evenings, finishing up working in the mini-mart by mid-afternoon.

Apparently not many people on Eos _needed_ glasses, or never left their homes in order to make the trip to Lestallum in order to obtain glasses. The guy blathered cheerfully about how he had been tempted to set himself up a travelling business, like the Cutlass vans, but then his lovely wife got pregnant and well, how could he leave her and their baby then? He asked cheerfully, gesturing to the walls and the pictures that chronicled his young marriage and how they went from a couple to a child, to two children, three, four, five, and finally a sixth. All of them daughters. Harry laughed a little weakly and said his family reminded him of his bestfriend, the only difference was that they didn't have a seventh child who was a boy – after all, that family had six sons and the seventh was their only daughter. The glasses guy laughed in delight and asked how he knew they had been trying for a son before turning all the lights off and telling him to read from the board.

An hour and a half of cheerful babble and far too many stories about his kids, the man proudly declared that Harry was done, and his glasses would be ready in two days as he didn't have any other orders at the moment. He offered a small selection of frames, but Harry was just pleased that the glasses barely cost anything – just the cost of the materials, scrap metal and glass.

“I'm a jeweller by trade,” the man declared proudly, “I'd be charging you an awful lot more for anything else, but glasses are needed, and a hunter is our shield against the darkness. Fine men and women, very fine,” he pronounced happily as he made a few notes in a book. “People need to look out for each other in these trying times. We've all got more than enough trouble with the war, the fiends, and the daemons.”

Harry nodded, feeling a hard lump in his throat, “Thank you very much.”

First Kimya taking him in, clothing him, feeding him, teaching him, the hunters donating their old weapons, Dave teaching him how to hunt, Portuttle keeping an eye on him, and now this. The people here were so nice, it – it honestly broke his heart a little that there was such a sense of community here, and they accepted him into that community so easily, and that his own, magical and non-magical, refused. That they were so fractious and vile to each other, finding any excuse to hate each other. He – he hadn't seen _any_ of that here.

Not yet anyway.

The two of them left to go and eat at one of the restaurants. Kimya, who had never had a job in her life, never been paid for a single ounce of her work, had been thoroughly embarrassed when she had been forced to turn to Harry in order to pay for their meals. Harry however had just been pissed off that despite everything she had never seen a single gil for all the enchantments and remedies and healing she provided her sister and everyone else in the HQ. That she had been forced to leave with _nothing_ in terms of financial support.

“Y'all interested in any of the local marks?” the tipster asked as they dug in, Harry guessed fresh faces were unusual and he definitely had the look of a hunter about him so it wasn't unusual.

He cast a glance at Kimya who was still morose and eating slowly. “I hadn't planned on it, but some more money would be an idea,” he mused, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. As predicted, she perked up with interest. Much like her sister, Kimya actually _hated_ relying on others to take care of her. She would most definitely leap at any chance to earn her own money, especially when it was something she knew she could handle. “What night hunts do you have available?” he asked, figuring they should play to their strengths.

After all, excepting the Oracle and the Prince, there was probably no one better suited for daemon slaying than the two of them.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/ Rudolph vs Randolph: Randolph is the weapon-smith you encounter in Lestallum after you complete the game but go back in time with Umbra. He's been so dedicated to blacksmithing that he's forgotten his own name in his efforts to FORGE A LEGEND. So I gave him an actual name. One close enough to the one he came up with to be applicable.
> 
> 2/ Ludo: An OMC, his name literally means 'flirt' in Latin lol
> 
> 3/ Ezma: I do not bash. I do not bash. I do not bash. She has her motivations, she has her reasons, they are not obvious at this particular moment in time because Harry is not omnipotent. They will be explained LATER. But yes, she is a hardnosed bitch.


	8. Chapter 8

They ended up accepting a few daemon hunts and managed to get hold of a map from the tipster as well, highlighting them in the Kelbass Grasslands. Considering how there was only an hour before sunset, the two quickly finished up their meals and rushed back to the truck where Harry took a few minutes to cover Kimya's cases with a tarp and strap them in place at the back before joining her in the front seat.

The two left Lestallum as the sky began to turn orange, and passed the Regalia in the underpass as they left.

Harry didn't really notice, his nose was buried firmly in their map as he finished noting down the areas that the tipster had told them about, as well as marking where their hunt was. “Okay. There's a parking spot not far from a haven that's pretty much just a stone's throw from the hunt, you'll want to turn a right as soon as we're over the bridge,” he detailed looking up and out of the window to where he could already see the ever so faint ribbon of glowing blue smoke in the distance.

“Right,” Kimya agreed tensely as she drove.

He grinned over at her, “You'll be fine. You were slapping daemons to dust back in Steyliff no problem. We've got this,” he promised, making a point of loading one of his quicksilvers as _loudly_ as possible. She laughed a little, and her grip on the steering wheel relaxed. Reassurance successful.

“We can camp out at the haven, or sleep in the truck, after the hunt. Your choice,” he said, tucking it away again.

She hummed, “I – didn't think to pack any camping equipment,” she admitted, not mentioning the fact that she didn't actually _own_ any.

Harry shrugged, “It's autumn, we'd be alright with some blankets I think. But it may rain. Probably better off in the truck,” he said with a careless shrug. “You can have the cabin, I'll sleep in the flatbed. If it rains I can just throw the tarp over myself.”

“Harry,” she scolded.

“Hey, I'm used to sleeping rough. You aren't. You might get sick if it rains while you're sleeping outside,” he pointed out seriously. She frowned at the road, unable to really think of an argument against him before huffing.

“Tomorrow we are staying at a caravan,” she told him in no uncertain terms.

“No argument here,” he agreed as they pulled into the Taelpar Crag parking space. “Now let's go kick the shit out of these Hecteyes.”

She nodded and tucked the hem of her skirt into her belt, “Alright.”

 

* * *

 

 **Eyes in the Darkness** (nighttime)  
Slay three Hecteyes.  
Reward: 4,430 gil, and a Mega-Elixer.

 **Wandering Nightmare** (nighttime)  
Slay one Ronin.  
Reward: 2,350 gil, and an Ice Crest.

 **Wrestling Your Daemons** (nighttime)  
Slay three Bussemand.  
Reward: 6,910 gil, and a Mega-Phoenix.

Not a bad haul in the slightest. They could have probably handled the remaining two hunts that particular tipster had, but Harry had already pulled one all-nighter, he was absolutely _shattered_ , and Kimya was even worse off, completely unused to such sustained effort. She would often sneak away to train her combat abilities in the Vesper, and as a little girl she confessed that Ezma would go with her and the two would hunt fiends together. It was how she knew how to drive despite technically not being allowed, she picked it up as a young girl in a fit of rebellion so she and her sister could quickly get to and from the lake where they practised.

By the time they had finished their hunts, she didn't even complain about Harry sleeping in the flatbed, it didn't even occur to her as she climbed into the front and he dragged out several blankets and made her a crude pillow out of her folded up shawls. As soon as she was horizontal she was out like a light, not even stirring when he climbed into the back and got himself set up comfortably with the crinkly, noisy tarp stretched over him so that if it rained he wouldn't get wet.

Thankfully it didn't, and despite the sounds of the night, he slept pretty well, waking with the dawn as it cast an almost blindingly blue coloured light through the tarp directly into his eyes.

Yawning, he shoved the tarp off of him in order to get some air. A quick glance showed Kimya was still sleeping so he got up, packed the tarp over her suitcases again, shoved his blankets away, and wrote her a quick note saying he was off in search of breakfast.

He had definitely seen some birds nests during the night, but without a means of cooking there was little point in collecting them (at least until his pocket protector piped up demanding to be fed, then he figured getting her an egg might be a good idea, did she even eat eggs? Oh yes, she assured him, tastey orbies were the best. Was he getting her some orbies? Wonderful, she was very pleased with this and would reward him by felling his enemies, she would bite them and they would die). However, he had seen several herbs he recognised, a few mushrooms he knew were safe for eating, some wild garlic, spring onions, and a fair few berry bushes just beginning to ripen up. He hadn't been willing to experiment in the Vesper because he didn't recognise anything, but it seemed like Duscae had vegetation or soil similar to what they had in England, so a lot of plants were familiar to him. He had studied enough books on foraging and homesteading as a child so he could sneak into the allotments and public footpaths and woods in search of things to eat.

It had been a _while_ since he last foraged like this, but it was just like riding a bike he found once he got his bearings and started using his fingertips and his nose to help him identify what he was digging up. Pretty soon he was using his t-shirt as a basket as he collected wild mushrooms, onions, garlic, mint, fennel, dandelion, blackberries, and he even got lucky enough to find a hazelnut bush that had ripened early.

He had to use maybe a bit more water than he would have liked washing it all, but there was enough for them both to have a small, if odd, breakfast between them before they headed back to Lestallum to pick up their rewards. In total, they should receive thirteen thousand, six hundred, and ninety gil as well as the trinkets.

Kimya was quiet as they drove back, picking at the hazelnuts and greens in her lap – the blackberries hadn't lasted long, and neither of them were very keen on the fennel. The garlic and onion they decided to eat first in the hopes that the other stuff would kill the smell afterwards. They pulled into Lestallum in the early hours, just as the markets were beginning to open up, and a lot of the EXINERIS ladies were getting ready to start their shifts. There were a lot of rather well toned, if not muscular, women in tank-tops and hot pants strutting around in the early morning sun, some of them wearing a kind of reflective pair of trousers, others just the jackets. Kimya made a startled sound when she saw them all, and Harry wasn't much better, entirely unsure of where his eyes should be, or were _allowed_ to be as they found a parking spot.

“Oh,” she said, pausing as they got out of the car and stared across the carpark at what was very obviously the Prince's car. “Th'vault must've been smaller than I thought,” she muttered thoughtfully.

Harry shook his head, “No. The door said there were a hundred floors. There's no way they've cleared it,” he stated frowning at the car. Had – had they followed after them? Regis had made some noise about Harry joining their Retinue but.... that was just it, noise. There had never been a serious discussion about it, no talk of security risks, or – or anything. Considering how there was only one other Solheim ruin, according to Dave, there was very little chance his extremely niche skill of reading the language would be in any way useful to them. They wouldn't have followed after them solely for the chance to recruit him, it was arrogant and stupid to presume so. They must be continuing their roadtrip for the Prince to get his ancestral powers.

“Oh... I would have thought they'd stick around t'help Ezma clear them though,” she said with quiet disappointment, touching her mouth sadly.

Harry folded his arms, “Well, if we run into them you can ask. But first, what do you say to getting our money and then a _proper_ breakfast?” he asked with a grin.

It surprised a laugh out of her and she nodded, linking her arm with his once more as they made their way up the stairs and into the early morning markets. Amidst the bustling women, the two of them stuck out even more than they had the previous day, but the ladies seemed more inclined to coo over how much of a gentleman Harry was being to his mother, and how cute she was in her shawl and her skirts, a regular country-belle, how _charming_. They were being nothing but complimentary, but there was just that hint of condescension that put his back up something fierce, and made Kimya's slightly bewildered smile go slightly fixed.

The tipster looked stunned when they presented their writs. There was very little means for confirming a daemon kill, but apparently they were so dangerous that no one would dare fake slaying one – mainly because there was a very real chance that if they got caught they would be sent out to fight said daemon _anyway_. This time with an escort who would watch – at least that was what Ezma threatened him with when explaining how the hunters ran things to Harry.

They got their gil, and their items, the ice crest turned out to be a disk carved with runes that shimmered red with warmth under his hands. He passed it to Kimya, figuring that since she was unused to running around the wilds, especially since winter was coming up, she might need the extra warmth it came with. Though why it was called an 'ice crest' when it was warm to the touch escaped him at that particular moment in time. The mega-phoenix was a beautiful talisman that lit up as soon as Harry touched it, a long pinion feather of red and gold that glowed like the embers of a fire between his fingers.

The tipster tipped his hat up and whistled when he saw it, “Astrals must have big things in mind for you,” he observed.

Harry smiled tightly and shoved it into his bag to stifle the glow before he was given the last reward – a rare limited edition energy drink straight from the Crown City. Said to pack enough nutrients, sugar, and caffeine to count as a meal, and bring even the most exhausted warrior back to peak condition. Perfect for those overnight study sessions. He shoved it in his bag to experiment with later behind closed doors, and made a mental note to buy the other drinks to see if there was anything he could do with those, or if it was a Lucis Caelum special.

“I... would like t'speak t'th'Prince,” Kimya eventually decided as they tucked into their food.

Harry paused, peanut sauce skewer raised to his mouth. “Okay?” he agreed before shoving it in and pulling all the meat off. He chewed and swallowed, “We can look for them after breakfast. Chances are they're staying at the fancy hotel or the caravan.” His money was on the fancy hotel, Weskham would probably only allow them into the caravans if there was no other suitable accommodations for a visiting royal near-by.

She nodded, smiling in relief, “With th'way ya was at logger heads with tha' young man, I wasn' sure ya'd be willin',” she admitted not meeting his eyes. Harry scoffed.

“I can handle Ass Face. Reminds me of this guy I knew in school crossed with the caretaker's cat. And at least I'm allowed to kick him,” Harry told her with a conspiratory grin as she quickly covered her mouth with a hand.

She laughed, “Tha's terrible, Harry! Y'all should try t'get along with him!”

“Maybe if he wasn't such an aggressive bag of dicks I might consider it,” he stated with a sniff, she chuckled, her eyes shining. “Did I ever tell you about that guy at my school?” he asked, knowing full well he hadn't. She shook her head, grinning behind her hand. “Thinking about it, comparing Ass Face to him is probably unfair. He's at least tolerable. If the forest behind my school wasn't full of spiders bigger than your truck, we'd have tied the little bastard up and left him there years ago.” He shook his head.

“He couldn't'a been _that_ bad,” Kimya laughed.

Harry snorted, “Oh he was worse. First day at school he searches the entire train for me, stands there insults my bestfriend, and then offers to help me avoid the 'wrong' sort. Then he turns around and says I'll die the same way my parents did if I keep hanging around him. Joke's on him, Ron's been my bestfriend since then. I couldn't have asked for a better one either....” he swore, staring down at his drink, suddenly feeling absolutely sick and miserable. “Him or Hermione....”

“Hermione?” Kimya prompted gently.

“Smartest girl in school,” he admitted with a small huff of amusement, “But because her parents are – outsiders, I guess, would be the term, people like Malfoy say she's unclean, got dirty blood. She loves books, and studying. She would have gone completely gaga over Steyliff, wanted to explore absolutely every inch, figure out every single thing she could. I don't think there was ever a challenge she didn't throw herself at. She... always thought she had something to prove. I guess we all did,” he admitted slowly, staring at the faint ripples of light on his drink.

“Was she yer girlfriend?” she asked kindly, and Harry had to laugh at that.

“God no! No, she and Ron, they're really thick. Like, _really_ thick. They've had crushes on each other since we were thirteen, but they're literally too stupid to realise it,” he snickered. “Both of them have tempers, Ron's got an inferiority complex and Hermione is competitive. They spend most of their time fighting like cats and dogs. Yet last year, a guy from another school asked Hermione to this, joint dance, thing. Ron was _furious_. And he didn't even know why.”

“Sounds like you're still in with a chance, Cor!”

“Your Highness!”

Harry jolted as laughter burst up behind him, he turned and spotted the Royal Retinue hovering around the table behind them, Regis and Clarus were laughing, Cid looked annoyed with them, Weskham was grimacing apologetically at them, and Cor was glaring at his Prince, half an inch away from punching him judging by the look on his face. Harry glared at them all, stomach turning over like acid.

“Do you usually listen in on private conversations?” he hissed darkly. They didn't deserve to know about Ron or Hermione. He _chose_ to share them with Kimya because he trusted her, because he _liked_ her, and wanted her to know about them.

“Our apologies, we meant to announce ourselves but – there just didn't seem to be a polite moment to interrupt,” Weskham admitted with a grimace.

“How long – ” he demanded through gritted teeth.

“Not long, I promise,” he said gently, palms up. “We arrived when you began to speak of your lady friend, Miss Hermione.”

“She sounds like Aulea,” Regis said, taking a seat with a most besotted affectionate look on his face.

“His Highness's childhood friend, and fiancée,” Weskham explained when Harry glanced at him in narrow eyed confusion.

“Pretty sure she's only marrying me for my library,” Regis added with a soppy grin of affection. Harry felt his mouth quirk against his will, that.... sounded like Hermione. If she was going to marry anyone for personal gain it would be for a library, bookshop, or political power so she could push through her House Elf Liberation Front efforts, and then begin working on the next cause she decided to crusade for.

“Well it definitely isn't for your looks, charm, or personality,” Clarus taunted as he took a seat, grinning at the look of outrage that his Prince shot him, hand pressed over his heart in mortal offence and betrayal.

“Clarus! How could you?! I thought we had something!”

“A single braincell between you?” Ass Face grunted, and Harry had to turn away as he laughed. That was actually pretty funny.

The Retinue ordered their own breakfast as Kimya and Harry finished theirs. There was another day before his glasses would be ready so they would be here a while longer. “We could go on some more hunts, or wander around Lestallum if you'd like?” he suggested to the woman as she nursed her water thoughtfully.

She smirked wickedly, “You could visit Ludo. An' I'm _sure_ Rudolph would be ecstatic t'see ya again,” she teased, grinning behind her drink when he turned red and scowled at her.

“Oh ho? What's this? Who are these?” Regis nosed, immediately interested and scooting his chair over like a ten year old, grinning ear to ear, eager for gossip.

“ _No one_ ,” Harry grit out at the same time Kimya laughed and said, “Harry made sum' friends with th'locals.”

Regis grinned at him and waggled his eyebrows, “Friends, eh?”

Harry went an even darker shade of red, “No.”

“That blush says otherwise,” he teased, and Harry seriously contemplated just throwing his drink in the man's face. He leaned back as if he could read his mind, grin going a little nervous as he glanced over his shoulder for back up.

“Ludo just showed us around, and Rudolph is a crazy blacksmith living in an alley,” he stated shortly, folding his arms and glaring at Kimya when she giggled again.

“They both seemed quite taken with him,” she chimed in unhelpfully, and Regis lit up like Christmas came early.

“Cor has _love rivals!_ ”

“I DO NOT!”

Harry dropped his head onto the table in front of him, “I should have stayed in Meldacio.”

 

* * *

 

Eventually, Regis teased Harry into actually thumping him, at which point the hunter stiffly informed Kimya that he was going on a hunt, she could have her chat with Regis while he was gone, and then practically fled the food court. He stopped by the tipster that ran the bread-stand next to the tunnel to get a nice brief fiend hunt just north of the Coernix Bypass – which on the map was a few miles west out of Lestallum. Judging by the distances between Vesper and Meldacio in comparison, if he went at a jog it would take him two hours to get out there, another hour to find, kill, and collect his mark, and another two hours back.

And in this heat, with little to no shade or plant cover – he was going to need some water.

He swung by Kimya's truck to get his backpack, and paused when he found the trinkets he got extra for successful hunts, and for going up in rank. Two bracelets, a sapphire one and one he didn't know; two bangles, one silver and the other one he _thought_ might have been titanium? He had never seen it before in his life, but he knew titanium floated, and he'd dropped it in the bathtub once by accident and it floated. He had left the majority of the weird energy drinks he got given back in Meldacio, he guessed they belonged to Dave now, but he had enough of those glowing feathers to pad a pillow, and several pendants of various stones, a weird rubbery disc not unlike the warm disc he gave to Kimya earlier, and a green leather choker.

He should probably sell some of these.

He emptied his backpack out onto the flatbed and sat down to sort through everything. He put his clothes and the small bag of toiletries he had to one side, stuck his tied stack of marks next to it, along with the pouch he kept his reward cards in, and then began to separate out the tangle of bottles, bracelets, pendants, feathers, and leather apart.

And that was where Ass Face and Cid found him.

“Yer still here?” Cid asked in surprise, tilting his cap up to get a look at him.

Harry hummed in agreement, “Figured I'd sort my bag out before getting some water and heading out. I didn't really have time to pack properly,” he explained and scowled at all the items in front of him. “I don't know what half of this stuff is though,” he admitted grumpily.

Ass Face stood on the back wheel to get a better look in, “Titanium bangle, improves your health slightly. Silver bangle, improves health moderately. Green choker, improves health recovery. Heliodor bracelet, improves your strength somewhat. Sapphire bracelet, improves your strength mildly. Circlet, improves magic moderately. Moon pendant, prevents toad. Star pendant, prevents poison. Lightning Crest, reduces injuries from lightning attacks,” He listed with a quick glance, pointing at each item. “You've got a _lot_ of Mega-Phoenix,” he noted in surprise.

“Mark rewards,” he admitted, “And... thank you. I just thought they were... I dunno, extras. I didn't know they actually _did_ anything.”

“The abilities conflict if you don't prep, so you can't wear more than one at a time. If no one told you,” he added.

“...Thanks.”

“How long have y'all been a hunter fer?” Cid asked watching as he separated out the pendants, the choker, the circlet, the silver bangle, and the sapphire bracelet from the rest of the bits and pieces.

“About... two months,” he admitted, “I felt bad about just sponging off Kimya so I signed up.”

Cid whistled, and he could feel Ass Face staring at him. He ignored the two of them as he contemplated everything in front of him and eventually put the choker into the 'sell' pile. He couldn't stand things around his neck. Uncle Vernon had choked him out a few times too many, not to mention Quirrel when he was eleven legitimately trying to kill him, not just grabbing his neck and shaking him. He didn't think he would be able to tolerate anything around his neck.

“Y'all must've been pretty highly ranked before hand,” the grease monkey mused, leaning on the edge of the truck. Harry frowned at him in confusion. “In yer army,” he elaborated.

Harry shook his head, “I'm _fifteen_. I'm not old enough to join the army,” he spluttered, and then remembered Ass Face was actually in the army, which.... how old did that make him? He _thought_ the guy was around his age but.... He could have been older?

“We're the same age, and I am,” Ass Face pointed out flatly, and Harry shook his head, looking uncomfortable. That was so illegal. Did this place not have any laws against Child labour or, or exploitation or Child _Soldiers?_

“Well, what were ye doin' before this?” Cid demanded gruffly.

“I was in school. Like everyone else my age in the country,” he stated, “It's – minimum age requirement to join the army is eighteen. It's _illegal_ to – I mean, there's _cadets_ , but I don't....” he dragged a hand through his hair. He knew America did military schools, but he wasn't so sure about England. Army Cadets you could join at like, fourteen he knew. Morgan had done it.

Ass Face frowned suspiciously at him. “Were you _ever_ trained?” he asked slowly.

Harry scratched his ear uncomfortably, “You're.... gunna have to be more specific.” He had never trained a day in his life unless you counted the Patronus charm or the Summoning charm.

“Did anyone ever teach you how to use a sword, or a gun?” he asked, bitch face powering up from mild thirty percent to eighty and climbing.

“....I held a sword when I was twelve once? And killed a giant ass snake?”

Bitch face one-hundred percent, now reaching critical levels.

He sighed and tucked everything he was selling into his backpack, “It's not a big deal,” he said as he grabbed the silver bangle. Health improvement would probably serve him best. He wanted to take the circlet, but didn't dare with the two others watching as he tucked everything up in his spare change of clothes, stacked it on top of his papers, and then shoved the whole lot into Kimya's pillowcase that he then tucked back under the tarp.

“I'd beg ter differ,” Cid stated, “Y'all takin' hunts without knowin' yer ass from yer elbow. Yer gunna get yerself killed one'a these days.”

The Gryffindor got to his feet in the flatbed, swinging his backpack on, “Not dead yet. I think I can handle it,” he grunted, jumping out. He half wanted to add something sassy about how people had been trying to kill him for a while and hadn't managed it yet, despite their best efforts, but he really didn't want to unpack Voldemort or the Death Eaters or any of that utter bullshit with these people. For one, there was no reasonable way of explaining it without bringing magic into the equation and he _seriously_ didn't want to do that, even if he did.... kinda.... a little bit.... trust Cid to a degree.

Ass Face folded his arms, bitch-face at critical mass, “You flail with your sword like you're having a seizure, and you're blind. That's bullshit.”

Harry smirked over his shoulder at him, “And yet here I am.”

He turned around and walked away, rolling his eyes hard enough to hurt.

In other circumstances, they would probably be right to worry, he decided. If he were a _normal_ fifteen year old, they would be absolutely one-hundred percent correct, and Harry would agree with them, he would get himself killed. But he _wasn't_ a normal fifteen year old. He never _had_ been. As much as he loved her, he couldn't deny that Hogwarts was dangerous, the magical world was _lethal_ in ways that the muggleworld just wasn't. He was _used_ to lethality. And honestly, this world was a lot more hospitable than his old one, even with the war. He.... if he had been dropped without warning on Earth with nothing more than the clothes on his back, he wouldn't have managed nearly as well as he had here. He would have been homeless, starving, and likely sick by now, and no one would care. They certainly hadn't when he was a child. But here, on Eos, he could work, he could earn money, find and buy food. Weapons were abundant, and with them he _earned_ his keep with Ezma.

He stepped into the machine mart at the petrol station and sold the jewellery and stuff he didn't need in exchange for water and a few other drinks, as well as some food he could have for lunch in case it took longer than expected.

Then he tightened his bag straps and started running.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgan is one of Dudley's friends.
> 
> And for those obsessed with worldbuilding like I am: Harry receiving the Sapphire Bracelet when he went up a Hunter Rank signifies he is currently HR5- Slayer.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Snake picture at the bottom of this chapter.

Fuck wasps. Fuck hornets. Bees were okay. But fuck the rest of the _giant ass motherfuckers buzzing around this hell-planet_.

Harry jogged back into Lestallum in the late-afternoon, sweaty, and a little dirty. The Spiracorn hunt had been easy. Absolutely no problem. The fucking giant wasps that ambushed him were. They were smaller than the ones he was used to from Myrlwood, which just meant shooting the zippy little buggers was more difficult, and they could get into the plant cover he dove into when he started getting overwhelmed. Still. Hunt successful, returning to basecamp, etc, etc.

He got his gil and another item from the tipster at the bread-stand, and went looking for Kimya. She wasn't difficult to find, he passed her walking into the town on his way to collect his reward, she had been drinking tea at the caravan, joined by half of the Royal Retinue.

“Is the shower free?” he asked as he thumped down in the chair next to her with a groan, giving half-hearted waves of greeting to the men present, “It's so hot here I feel like I sweated half my bodyweight out,” he complained as he tugged the last of his water bottles out of his bag and drained it.

“Ya smell like it too,” Kimya agreed with a chuckle. “Go ahead. His Highness is stayin' in th'Leville, so we've got th'van t'ourselves,” she told him kindly.

He groaned as he shoved the empty bottle back into his bag, “Right. Give me a minute. I'll get my stuff and shower in a sec, just lemme sit in the shade for a bit,” he begged, sighing as he sprawled.

“Perhaps something to eat?” Weskham suggested kindly, “Would you mind terribly if I commandeered the kitchen, Lady Auburnbrie?” he asked as he got to his feet.

“Help yerself,” she said as he bustled off into the caravan.

“We're rea-dy?”

Harry cracked his eyes open at the sound of Ass Face's voice, he had his jacket back on, his hat on, and his sword in hand, staring at him like he was shocked Harry was even there; Regis, who had been behind him, lit up at the sight of him sprawled out on the camping chair he had claimed for himself. Harry flopped a hand in greeting to them, ignoring Clarus asking cheerfully what they were going to do now, all dressed up with no where to go? He _told_ them, didn't he, that there was no need for it. He tuned it out and just basked for a moment.

And then shoved himself to his feet in disgust, “Okay, I can't stand the smell of myself anymore,” he grumbled, and then reached for his pocket protector. “Can you keep an eye on her while I get that shower?” he asked, gently sliding her into Kimya's lap.

The woman tensed at the sight of the serpent and looked up at him in disbelief, “Harry, this is a Vesper tree-viper,” she told him distantly, “They're incredibly dangerous. A single bite is enough t'paralyse a grown man fer life.”

He blinked at her, “Okay, I'll take her with me then. Sorry, I thought her species was harmless,” he admitted, carefully scooping her back out of Kimya's lap, the little snake hissing in disappointment because that flatface smelt good.

“Ya should drop her int'th'nearest forest, Harry,” Kimya told him firmly, “'fore she bites ya.”

He snorted as she wound her way around his fingers, her stomach no longer distended with the 'orbie' he fed her earlier, the shell having cracked and vomited back out while the yolk and what not were gleefully swallowed, “I gave her an egg. I'm sorry to say, Kimya, she's come to the conclusion I belong to her now,” he explained with a grin as he showed her little face off, she flicked her tongue at them and then curled back around his fingers dismissing them. He passed thought to telling her that it was Ass Face who threw the snake at him, but judging by the looks Clarus and Cid were giving him, and how stiff the teenager had gone, it didn't matter, they would be telling him off anyway as soon as they got the chance.

He snickered and left the caravan to go and get his clothes.

Still. Given how vocal she had been, he half expected her to be as harmless as a corn snake back on earth. Then again, with such vivid colourings, he should have known better. Anything that brightly shaded in the _wild_ should have been poisonous, or at least very good at pretending to be.

Hm, he needed a name for her. Asking netted him nothing, she didn't even know what a name was and frankly didn't see the need for it because it was obvious who he was speaking to, she was the only one there, and he was the only one she could speak to. Why should it matter? It was an interesting way of looking at it, but didn't help him in the slightest. Good names for a snake huh.... Jormungandr was one, but not exactly good for a girl. Naga – no, that was a type of daemon here. Medusa? She asked what the name was, so he told her the tale of the woman who was cursed to turn men to stone. She flicked her tail over it before dismissing it. She did not turn flatfaces to stone, she killed them, she bit them and they died. She also disliked Circe, Basilisk (she would be the _queen_ of serpents, thank you, males were small and weak), Cleopatra, Slytherin, and Noodle (she was insulted when she found out what it was but did admit it was amusing given how they met).

She was mulling over Eve when they returned to the caravan, and Harry could see Kimya giving Ass Face an incredibly disapproving frown as he sat stiffly opposite.

Harry snickered, “In his defence, I dropped an ants nest down the back of his shirt. The red biting ones,” he admitted as he passed into the caravan.

“An' we'll talk about tha' _later_ , young man!” Kimya called after him in disapproving tones. He hunched his shoulders and snickered as he dodged past Weskham and drew the privacy screen on the back section of the van. Stripping out of his sweaty clothes, he tossed them to one side and gently deposited her ladyship onto a pillow before digging his toiletries out and climbing into the absolutely _miniscule_ shower they had on here. He was tiny and it was a narrow fit for him, god help Clarus who was about three times wider. He got cleaned up quickly, there was always limited water in these things, and he knew Kimya would probably like a shower as well before she went to bed, so he was practically in and out after soaping, scrubbing, and rinsing.

He dressed in his spare change, and then went to go and toss the rest in the small washer-dryer they had before heading back out, roughly towelling his hair, his pocket protector declaring she didn't wish to go to sleep yet. So he put her over his shoulder where she could see what was going on, she was still only the width of a pencil and about a foot in length. It was fine.

“That's better. I feel human again,” he sighed in relief, throwing himself into one of the nearest seats.

Clarus stared at him in disbelief, “The poisonous snake is around your neck,” he pointed out 'helpfully'.

“I know. She wants to see what's going on,” he explained idly as he grabbed his backpack again and shuffled through his papers in order to put his completed writ in the right place. It had been a Rank Three hunt, so it should be stored right about..... there, next to the one about the lightning bomb daemons that had been prowling around the Vesper.

Clarus gestured to him in aggravation and helplessness, looking pointedly at Kimya and Regis as if they were responsible for him.

Ass Face reached over to grab the snake, Harry slapped his hand before it even got there. “No take backs,” he declared without looking up, using the hand he just slapped the teenager with to stroke her head. “Look, I like the snake. She's not biting me, she's – okay she's _not_ harmless, but she's not shown any aggression towards me. I'm honestly fine with snakes,” he told them easily.

“You said you killed a giant snake when you were twelve,” Ass Face reminded him.

Harry held a finger up at him, “That – belonged to someone else. And they were an asshole.”

“Who's hungry?” Weskham called, stepping out of the caravan with his arms laden down with large serving platters of neat thin-sliced fish. “Lucian Carp sashimi,” he declared cheerfully as he set the platters down on the tables. “Dig in!”

As far as dinners went, raw fish was.... a bit odd. But it was free food, so Harry wasn't going to complain as he got himself a portion after everyone else had dished up. As always, most of what Weskham made was delicious, even if he wasn't too keen on the ginger that accompanied it. Conversation was light and easy, Weskham asked if he had looked into getting himself some glasses, and he admitted they were just waiting on them to be finished tomorrow afternoon, they would be sticking around at least until then. Regis seemed pretty eager to see what he was made of once he got them, gushing about trying to get hold of a decent rifle to see how he handled one of them.

He got into another insult match with Ass Face, Kimya told him off for the nickname, and Harry told her loftily that he called it how he saw it. Ass Face complained that he was fucking blind, he couldn't see for shit. “It's kind of an aura. It radiates off you,” Harry told him with a smirk. Regis laughed and pointed out that, _actually_ , he was fairly attractive as far as teenagers went. He certainly had his fair share of admirers back home. Harry could only shake his head in amused disgust at the Prince, “What are you, his mother?” he demanded much to the hilarity of everyone else at the table, and the utter mortification of Ass Face who stormed off, snapping that he was going back to the hotel. That seemed to be the signal for the rest of them to disperse, giggling and mocking their Prince as they bade the two goodnight and headed back to their hotel.

“Harry?” Kimya prompted once they'd left, making him look up from where he had been stroking his snake's head as she explored the table, she had asked to be put on a cooler surface because she was getting uncomfortably warm now. She was going to need a cold water bath soon, she added loftily, it was his job as her flatface to see to it. “I... I spoke t'th'Prince 'bout those doors,” she explained solemnly, settling her hands in her lap.

He tilted his head, “Yeah?”

She nodded, “Yer right, he _didn'_ open th'vault. It's fine,” she assured him quickly, lifting a hand to stall him as he stiffened in outrage, “It's fine. Th'door'll hold another forty years or so. An' I can always go back an' reinforce it again. He's sworn t'do his duty, t'slay the daemons within once he's obtained his full power. He can't risk openin' th'doors and not bein' able t'kill what's inside, and since his ancestors _couldn't_ – it's smart thinkin'. I can't blame 'im fer it. So.... if yer willin', I'd like t'check th'other doors,” she admitted slowly, looking up at him from under her lashes nervously. “I know ya wanna stay close t'Vesper, in case yer family show up – ”

He reached over to lay a hand over her wringing fingers, “When do we start?” he asked, cutting her off.

She teared up a little, and smiled, wiping her eyes. “Yer a good boy, Harry,” she told him softly. “Thank you.”

He squeezed her hands, and shivered a little in the growing darkness. The two collected up their things, Kimya going back to the car to grab her suitcases, and then moved into the caravan properly. She took her shower and pulled on her usual nightdress, and then sat staring down at it with dangerously trembling lips – Harry wasn't an expert, but the embroidery looked handmade. Had Ezma, or another member of her family made and given it to her? Or was she remembering learning it herself, or who knew what else?

“Hey,” he called, jarring her out of whatever thoughts that were causing her to well up again, “Do you think.... you could teach me to reinforce the doors?” he asked curiously. “In case we need to check more than one door at a time.”

She wiped her eyes again and gave it some serious thought, “That's...... not a bad idea,” she agreed slowly. “But I don' know where most of th'doors are.”

Harry grinned sharply, “I do. I translated a poem from Steyliff that details where they all are. I gave it to Regis. I can get a copy from him tomorrow.”

She laughed and patted the bed beside her, “Well then, get on over here. I can't teach ya if yer over there.”

He left his quicksilver on the table, he had been about to disassemble and clean it, but, this was more important. They spent the rest of the evening teaching Harry how to summon his own magic into the palms of his hands, the warm white-gold light filling his cupped hands at Kimya's gentle urging, her own coppery-pink-gold magic gently coaxing him. Reinforcing the door was literally just feeding it your own magic. Solheim magitek was incredibly intuitive, and would channel it to where it needed to go most, where it was weakened most, instead of just trying to spread it everywhere willynilly. It would react like water, and fill in the gaps and cracks before anything else.

They had to stop when a trio of hunters knocked on the door and asked to share, but that was fine. There were enough beds for six, even seven people to sleep in the same caravan, two sets of bunk-beds, and a double bed at the front end that could fit three people if they were willing to get cosy. Harry and Kimya took the double, giving the hunters space to settle into the bunk-beds.

The next morning the two were awoken by the smell of cooking eggs and meat, the huntress that came in night before whipping up breakfast for everyone. The last thing he expected for the woman to hand him a pair of plates with a grin, saying that it was their thank you to him and his ma for letting them share camper space while smelling like a couple of garula that found the stankiest mudhole to roll in. He had been about to open his mouth and tell her that Kimya wasn't his mother when the woman in question thanked her kindly from over his shoulder and assured her that as hunters themselves the smell was hardly an unfamiliar one. There shower should still have some hot water if you want to sneak in to the shower before your fellows wake up, she could watch the pan.

The young woman laughed and quickly abandoned her cooking to do exactly that, and Kimya nudged him to the table without a single comment about what had transpired while he quietly squirmed in bewildered turmoil and ate his eggs. He.... in all honesty, he _had_ noticed the similarities in circumstances between Kimya and his mother. A witch with a magic hating sister, it was really hard not to draw a parallel. A lot of Ezma's attitude and behaviours _did_ remind him of a more aggressive/warrior-like Petunia Dursley, a Petunia who had been raised in an environment where being the perfect woman did _not_ involve being the perfect demure and stylish housewife. A Petunia who probably never met a Vernon Dursley. And remained a sister to a Lily that never went to Hogwarts, and never met a James Potter.

He – _was not_ trying to replace his mother with Kimya. But the parallels were hard to ignore. Was that... why he decided to throw his lot in with her, leave Meldacio despite having to wait for Sirius? Agree to help her with the doors for no other reason than she just needed the help?

“I think I'd like t'visit th'markets today,” Kimya decided cheerfully as she dished up a plate of breakfast and tucked it under the grill to keep warm before making a start on the next, taking a moment to dig into her own food as the eggs cooked. “We don' have any campin' supplies or food stuffs, an' I can't ask ya t'forage fer breakfast every mornin' we're out an' about,” she said, giving one of the rumpled hunters a beaming smile and a plate of breakfast, cheerfully telling him his lady companion was in the shower. He grunted his thanks and sat down opposite Harry to dig into his food appreciatively.

He nodded, “Sure. Do you want me to come with?” he asked.

She shook her head, “I think.... I'd like t'explore meself, fer a change,” she admitted before smiling at him. “D'ya want t'meet fer lunch before we head t'get yer glasses?” she suggested brightly, “Th'bread stand smelled so good yesterday.”

“Careful there,” the hunter at the table grunted, piling his food between two slices of thick bread, “Bread stand always misranks their hunts. Make sure t'double check yer info before heading out on a mark from 'em.”

“Thank ya kindly fer the warnin',” Kimya said, hand up to her mouth in worry as she looked at Harry with alarm. He had accepted his hunt from the bread guy yesterday. He shrugged helplessly. He hadn't noticed anything off about the hunt at all. The spiracorns had been piss easy, the only problem came from the nest of fucking wasps near-by.

Since she was getting camping equipment and food for him as well, Harry handed over several of his reward cards. Even while paying rent to Ezma he had been _raking_ in gil at a ridiculous rate from all the hunts he took – he doubted anyone really realised, given how he would go to the basin even when he _didn't_ have hunts just to practice and explore. But when he put all his cards together and checked them, he had just over fifty thousand gil. Twenty of that he handed to Kimya to get their supplies.

So, while she meandered around the markets, haggled, and shopped, he decided to wander around Lestallum. It was _nothing_ like London, or any of the villages they passed through for school trips, or on holiday, or going to visit Aunt Marge.

His viper friend forgot about names, but when he reminded her, she didn't care, so when he named her Clementine semi-sarcastically, she said it was fine. Apparently she had grown bored of the conversation and didn't care anymore so whatever. She wanted to know what _that_ smell was, go over there.

Without much to do, he was perfectly content to assist his serpentine companion in exploring the city, finding interesting smelling things – though her idea of interesting and his differed to vast degrees when she ended up directing him to a knocked over garbage can, a dead bird, two guys fucking in an alleyway and trying to be discreet – at least until Harry stumbled on them, yelped, and left very quickly. And then finally to the EXINERIS plant at the back of the city where she said there was an awful lot of very _tangy_ tasting heat.

He peered down into the crater, whistling in awe at the beautiful crystal formations, gently rubbing his fingers down Clementine's back as she tasted the air and told him that there was nothing interesting down there. Just tangy hot dust.

She couldn't sense it. But he could.

That was a _lot_ of condensed magic. Like, holy _shit_ , a lot of condensed magic.

“You alright there, cutie?” a woman asked behind him.

He blinked and turned to see three of the factory girls who were just going on break, “Yeah. Just admiring the crystals,” he admitted with a slightly awkward smile, carefully keeping his eyes at face height.

“Oh! Tenebraean!” one of the girls cooed, “I _love_ your accent!”

He did _not_ have an accent! Ugh. He smiled uncomfortably, “Thanks,” he muttered.

One of the girls was suddenly next to him, linking her arm with him and pressing all sorts of things against him, “Now, I know yer a new face around here. I'd have _noticed_ before now. Have you had a guided tour? I can show you _all_ sorts of _interesting_ things,” she told him with a grin, tightening her grip on his arm.

Harry went red, and studiously did _not_ look down. “Erm, I got shown around before,” he admitted.

“I bet I could give you a better _tour_ ,” she bragged, leaning up against him even as he squirmed.

The tallest of the three chuckled and leaned against the chainlink behind him, her hand just to the left of his head, “If you're gunna be here for a while, why don't we show you a night out on the town, Lestallum style, hm?” she suggested, practically looming over him.

He had to switch from looking up to looking down at their feet because his head was literally at eyelevel with her cleavage and he was only human, he was a fifteen year old boy, and these women were not wearing an awful lot and they were _very_ close.

“Aww, he's so cute,” the third girl cooed, leaning into her tall friend with a laugh. “Look at him blush!”

“I know right?” the tall one laughed, and then leaned over him a little more, smirking, “I could just eat him up.”

He jerked and looked at her in mild horror. Did Eos actually have non-human humanoids?! Like – hags or vampires?

“Harry! There you are!” Clarus called, “Excuse me ladies,” he said as charmingly as he could, sliding between them to grab his free arm, “Little cousin, you know?” he added with a roguish grin before tugging Harry out of the press of women.

“Aww,” the girl that had been clinging to his arm complained as she released him.

“Bye cutie! Come find us later!” the tall woman called after him as Clarus practically dragged him down a side alley that he vaguely remembered Ludo telling him took them back to the markets.

Clarus waited until they were out of sight before coming to a stop, “You alright?” he asked worriedly, giving him a quick check over.

“Yeah, just..... confused,” he admitted, glancing over his shoulder. “Does – do people in Lestallum, erm, _eat_ human flesh?” he asked warily.

The Shield stared at him for a moment in honest bewilderment, “What.”

He pointed over his shoulder, “That woman said she could eat me. Usually when people say that they kind of mean it literally back home,” he explained stiffly, with ever so slight genuine discomfort. He had nearly been eaten far too many times for it to _really_ bother him, but this was the first time a _human_ or human-like being had threatened to do so. It was a considerably more unsettling than he thought it would be.

The Shield's face spasmed, and he looked like he had _so_ many questions but in the end he gently laid both hands on Harry's shoulders, giving Clementine a wary eye when she popped her head out from under his collar, before looking him in the eye. “Eating human flesh isn't done. What that woman meant was sexual, Harry, and you should avoid her and her friends from now on. They are grown women, what they do is their business, but you're only fifteen, and they should not be approaching you with those kinds of intentions. Do you understand?” he asked.

They had been flirting with him. With the intent of sex. With him. They wanted sex from him.

His face went bright red at the explanation, their comments suddenly taking on a _whole new meaning of absolute horror._

“Right. Okay. Avoiding them forever. Understood,” he choked out stiffly as Clarus's face spasmed a little bit more.

He gently began to steer Harry down the alley towards the markets, “You won't be saying that when you're older, but that's fine, it's good for now. Just, if a lady approaches you like that, just tell her how old you are. If she doesn't leave, get yourself as far away from her as possible, alright?” he said as they came out into the markets. He eyed the bustling place with dismay and huffed in embarrassment, grumbling under his breath about Weskham ditching him before he was done.

Harry peered up at him, “...Are you lost?” he asked after watching the man's eyes dart around the walls in rising annoyance.

“....Little bit, yeah.”

Well, this he could do at least. “This way. The fancy hotel is down here,” he explained, tugging him to the path on the left through the bustling stalls.

The huge man followed without argument as Harry took the left path out of the markets and then right down the side-street to the small plaza with the fountain outside the fancy hotel. He was about to turn around and bid the man goodbye when he propped a hand against his back and propelled him into the hotel.

“I think someone needs to have a serious conversation with you about some stuff,” the Shield decided, sounding a little discomfited.

“Uh, _what_ stuff?” he asked warily, having a bad feeling about this as the hotel staff blinked at him, at Clarus, frowned in disapproval, and went back to their work. Did they think he and Clarus were gunna – oh god, gross. “Oh, is Regis kicking around? I need to get a copy of that translation off him,” he added, just loudly enough for the staff to hear so they wouldn't think the worst.

“Yeah, he's in our room. Weskham, you bastard! You ditched me in the market!” the man complained as he barged into the room.

“You managed to find your way back. And you've brought a guest as well, hello Harry,” the man greeted kindly.

“Hi. Regis, can I get a copy of that translation I did for you in Steyliff? Kimya isn't too sure where the other doors are and wants to check on them too,” he explained spotting the Prince in the corner drinking something while reading one of the trashy fashion magazines he saw for sale at the news-agent across the plaza. Sat cross-legged in a sunbeam in front of the window was Ass Face, cleaning and sharpening his sword, he scowled when Harry came in but otherwise didn't comment or deviate from what he was doing. Weskham looked to have been in the middle of inventory, one of the beds covered in packages and drinks, the other with tools and equipment. Cid was nowhere to be found, but if Harry had to hazard a guess, he was probably knee deep in their car, checking it over.

“Oh, of course. How are you this morning?” the man asked brightly, summoning the scrap of paper from his magical pockets while Clarus got into some kind of whispering argument with Weskham behind him.

He grimaced and tugged his notebook out so he could copy the translation onto a fresh page. “Uh, so-so. But, glasses'll be ready after lunch so there's that,” he admitted as he scribbled.

“So-so? What happened?” the Prince asked in concern, putting his magazine to one side, and taking his feet off the chair opposite.

Harry shook his head, “Nothing serious, don't worry about it.”

“Group of women nearly sexually assaulted him,” Clarus grunted, making the Prince jerk straight up, and even Ass Face to stiffen and look up in mixed anger and concern.

The Gryffindor grimaced, “They weren't that bad. It – it was weird but they didn't _do_ anything,” he protested before they got the wrong idea.

The Shield sighed and gestured at him, looking at Weskham plaintively, “All three of them practically had him pinned to the chain-link fence. He didn't have a damn clue what was going on, or what they were suggesting.”

“Well it isn't like that kind of thing _happens_ , like _ever_ , to someone like me!” Harry protested hotly with a roll of his eyes. What was he supposed to think when a group of older women came over to talk to him? _Automatically_ assume they wanted into his pants just because they were being friendly? How arrogant did they think he was? He was a scrawny little thing, even _he_ knew that. It was what made him such a fantastic Seeker. Wood used to give him tips on eating and dieting in order to maintain a Seeker's build back before he left. Okay, he hadn't been following it as _religiously_ as he probably should have, but living with the Dursleys made the difference during the summer, he thought. Even if Molly Weasley was forever doing her best to pack it all back on.

“Harry, has anyone ever sat you down and talked to you about – ” Weskham began.

_Oh fuck no._

“We are _not_ having this conversation!” he yelped in horror, jumping to his feet.

The Retainer shook his head, “It is an important subject, Harry, you are a young man and – ”

“Ron's older brothers gave us the talk back when we were twelve!” he blurted, backing away from the man, “And anything they missed, Professor McGonagall talked us through in painful horrifying detail! I do not need a recap, thank you!!” he practically squawked as he put his back to the balconette railing.

Clarus scoffed, “Apparently you do if you didn't realise that three women were trying to drag you down a dark alleyway.”

Harry shook his head, “I have to meet Kimya for lunch!” he squeaked, and then vaulted out of the window.

He was NOT having that conversation!!

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/ The bread stand is the only food stand in the entire game, excepting the train, where you cannot also take a hunt. This is my explanation for why. He was shit at his job so the Hunter HQ banned him from issuing hunts.
> 
> 2/ Wood and dieting, it's never mentioned in canon, but I do absolutely believe he would be the kind of overly dedicated Quidditch fanatic to even go into diets and the like to give his players the ideal build for their role. On a normal healthy kid, it would have probably been perfectly fine for Harry to follow it, Wood takes his quidditch seriously so he'd want to do it right. But Harry is NOT a normal healthy kid. So yeah.
> 
> 3/ Clementine, meet Harry's pocket protector! 8DD You can thank friend Tom for finally helping me choose between google search images. Like, I chose one, but this beauty popped up in the 'related searched' and I spent three days looking between them going "Google how dare you do this to me?". And Rei was absolutely no help, she hates snakes. She just kept saying 'choose a nope rope and get on with it'. But I couldn't, they were all so cute. I was in a real pickle, until I spotted my friend online and went to harass him instead lol  
> Photo © Frank Schaub


	10. Chapter 10

Kimya laughed so hard she hurt her stomach when he told her what happened, bent double at her seat at the table, crying with laughter, while he slouched in his own chair and glared at her in betrayal. Okay, it was a little bit funny, and he knew he would see the lighter side of it later, but right now – he just had to jump out of a damn _window_ to escape those people. Good thing the Leville was only two floors, and no one had been beneath him when he jumped. He got some funny looks when he landed and rolled down the steps and _sprinted_ away from the men shouting out of the window, but he did not stop or look back. Like hell was he sticking around for 'The Talk', especially not with Ass Face sat right there laughing at him.

“It's not funny,” he growled, which just set her off into even more peels of laughter.

Grumbling, he ordered his lunch and started eating without waiting for her. She could buy her own meal this time, he decided spitefully as he dug into his skewers and juice. Eventually she calmed down enough to hiccup her order to the grinning tipster who had likely heard absolutely everything because no matter _what_ anyone said they were incorrigible gossips. When they were finished, they got their map out, and began to go through the poem that Harry translated to mark off places where the doors were likely hidden.

“Greyshire Grotto is th'only place with ice in Lucis,” Kimya explained crossing it off, “It's a huge underground cave system o'ice and crawlin' with daemons. This here is Costlemark, there'll definitely be a door there. We've done Steyliff. That's Dawn Tower, Glacian's Womb, an' Hydrean's Roof.”

“Fulgurian's eye.”

“Fociaugh Hallow,” she decided, marking a spot on the eastern side of Duscae, on the border of Leide. “His shrine rests in there.”

“Regis mentioned the Star's Blessing being in Keycatrich, where the Draconian blessed the Oracles and the Kings,” Harry added, and Kimya pointed to a small circle of stone just north of the town. “Ass Face mentioned Balouve Mines for the path of Titan to Angel, something about how it mined white quartz and Angelgard Island was at the bottom of the mountain,” he added and she hummed unhappily, circling a stretch of road between Longwythe and Galdin Quay. They would have to explore that thoroughly.

“The Draconian's Cleave though. Tha' could mean Taelpar Crag,” she explained, tracing the _huge_ expanse of damage that the canyon represented, “or Ostium Gorge,” she finished, pointing to a smaller canyon towards the Crown City.

The only one they weren't sure about was the Great Serpent's Arch.

“Is there anything of note in this area?” Harry asked, circling a finger around the arches in southern Duscae, Schier Heights. The huge stone arches were pretty much the only thing he could think of that would apply to 'Great Arches', serpent or not.

“There is.... Daurell Caverns,” she admitted slowly. “But I can't think a'anythin' that would make it 'serpent'-like,” she admitted sadly. “An', I doubt we can get near t'it. Th'Royal Guard have set up a base atop, and they're minin' the Caverns accordin' t'gossip, seized all th'local farms in case'a security risks.”

“Well, what good is knowing a Prince if we can't ask for special permissions?” Harry asked flatly, “He's promised to help us with the doors, if we ask for permission from him, they'll have to let us investigate a possible security risk, right?”

She hummed sceptically before smiling at him, “What do ya wanna do once we get them glasses?” she asked.

He hummed, “Well. I'm going to have to get used to wearing them, and no offence, but I'd like to _before_ we go walking into any daemon nests. Not to mention the fact I think we could _both_ do with some stronger weapons. So... couple of hunts, build up our finances, and get some better kit?” he suggested thoughtfully.

She nodded, beaming, “An' I can train ya up properly in th'meanwhile!”

Plan made, the two packed their map up, paid the tipster for his food, and picked up a few hunts before heading to the jeweller. The jovial man was beaming when they showed up, his wife greeting them at the door with a baby in her arms that Kimya was happy to coo over while her husband presented Harry with his new glasses. They were.... a lot heavier than he expected. Metal frames and actual glass lenses.

“Now, I've treated them with a special glue made of magnanir horn and hoof. They might crack and shatter, but the glue will make sure the shards never fall out or pierce those pretty eyes of yours,” he explained as Harry weighed them in his hands. “The metal of the frames is made of a special alloy, my own recipe, and super flexible. May I?” he asked, holding a hand out for them. Harry handed them back over and couldn't help but inhale sharply when the man crumpled the glasses up in his hands like he was screwing up a sheet of paper. And yet, when he opened his hand, they sprung open again, the only sign of the damage being the finger prints left on the lenses.

“Wow,” he couldn't help but say as the man snapped out a soft red cloth and polished the glass back to a flawless transparency.

“Try them on,” he urged.

It was literally just metal and glass, there were no little bridge pads as far as Harry could see. It was a bit uncomfortable sliding the metal stalks over his ears, and the man noticed his wince as he did.

“I have a rubber strap yet to be added, I wished to see if they met your satisfaction before we began to fit it to your particular measurements,” he explained with a grin before clapping his hands as Harry took a look at the world with new eyes. “Wonderful! Oh excellent, I did worry that I made them too big, this is marvellous. Well, my boy, tell me how it feels to see the world?” he asked eagerly, leaning forward as Harry blinked at him.

He laughed, a little lost for words, “I – I think my last glasses might not have been the best fit for me. Holy shit, do people really see the world like this?” he asked in awe, staring around himself in fascination. There were floral patterns on the wallpaper, he could actually _see_ them. They were pale blue and green and pink, and he could _actually see them._

He looked down at his hands, they seemed further away than usual and he _felt_ taller as he looked down. He was going to have to work on his depth perception before they went out on a hunt. He could actually _see_ the dirt under his fingernails, the – the words that Umbridge carved into his flesh. They looked so much _deeper_ than he realised, still angry red around the edges, raised and ugly and pulling at his skin. He covered it quickly with his other hand, and mentally vowed to get himself some gloves. He hadn't – he hadn't realised how bad they were. No one had said anything.

He stared at the guy, taking in the faint greying at his temples he couldn't see before, the scar through his eyebrow, the mole on the side of his nose, and the crows feet and laugh lines on his weather beaten face, the scruff of a few days spent without shaving and the faint discolouration of lipstick on his cheek where his wife had given him a morning kiss. A coffee stain lingered on the shoulder of his white t-shirt, and before now, Harry had no idea.

“They're great,” he choked out with a grin, and the man beamed happily.

“Wonderful! Now, let's get that strap fitted, shall we? They'll be much more comfortable once it's on, and they won't be falling off easily any time soon,” he declared cheerfully as he opened up a set of draws on his work-desk, “What colour of strap would you like? Black, white, yellow, red, green, or blue?” he asked cheerfully, “I think I have a nice multi-coloured one from the last Festival of the Six,” he mused, rummaging around a little more.

“That's fine. Black would be great,” he said. He wanted to say red, but given how some fiends reacted to the colour, perhaps he shouldn't have it on his _head_.

Harry sat very still as the jeweller measured the black strap around his head, fighting not to flinch a little when he took a set of small bolt-cutters to the stalks of his glasses, taking a little bit off, measured the rubber again, and then cut it to length. He took the glasses off his face and slid the rubber on before popping them back onto Harry's face, fiddling with the rubber thoughtfully before marking it with a white pencil and then taking them off to slice a little bit more of it off. He then took a heat-gun to the rubber that was over the stalks, shrinking it to the metal.

“There,” he declared, holding them up, “Just give them a few seconds to cool and then you're free to go young man.”

Harry smiled as he was handed a hard case and a soft cleaning cloth to go with them. “Thank you, I don't – thank you.”

The jeweller beamed at him, “Keep fighting the good fight, lad. Make the world a better place for me and mine,” he said leaning back in his chair to smile up at his wife as she came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. He reached up to squeeze her fingers and then pressed a kiss to them.

The pair left the shop and Harry was left blinking owlishly, as if he'd never seen the world before, when he got outside. It was going to take some getting used to, the glasses were heavier than anything he'd ever worn before, and they were literally strapped to his face. He peered around the streets in fascination, seeing patterns on the tiles, painting on doorframes, flowers in baskets under people's windows, there was a lot more trash than he expected to see given how clean Meldacio was – or was it? Was it just as bad and he just couldn't see until now? How would the Vesperpool or Steyliff look now that he could actually _see_ it?

He drifted after Kimya, staring around at everything in awe.

And then they reached the main road, and he couldn't help but go down to the observation platform and goggle at the view.

“Ya alright there, Harry?” Kimya asked gently in concern.

“Yeah,” he croaked and then shook himself, “I – I've just never seen anything this incredible before,” he admitted, grinning at her. She smiled at him and then linked her arm with his.

“Take yer time. We ain't got no where t'be yet,” she told him.

Eventually after he'd ogled his fill, he eagerly dragged her through the rest of Lestallum, peering into every knook and cranny enthusiastically – a few people that recognised them seemed confused until they saw the glasses, at which point laughs and congratulations and questions about how did he like them now were thrown their way from cheerful locals.

And then they ran into the Retinue outside the market, their arms filled with purchases.

The group of men were even more eclectic and clean with his glasses on, he could see the fine black-on-black detailing on the Prince's suit, the small silver skulls. Could see the oil and dust and grease on Cid's large work-rough hands. The scars that patterned Clarus' bare arms, and the individual black lines on the huge black tattoo that he never really thought much of but could now see were actually _feathers_ crawling down his arms. Could see _Ass Face_ , who actually did not look like an ass. Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck, Regis wasn't wrong. He was good looking. Very good looking. Shit, that wasn't fair.

“Well now,” Weskham said with a smile, looking very pleased. Harry blinked at him, quickly looking away before anyone else noticed him staring, and stared in surprise to see there was a mole on his left cheekbone. “I like your new glasses. Very fine. How did you like the view of the Disc of Cauthess, now that you can appreciate it?” he asked playfully.

Kimya giggled, “Couldn't tear his eyes off,” she admitted before he could open his mouth. He shot her a wounded look.

“It was cool, okay?” he grumbled defensively, flushing.

Regis laughed, hefting his bag up, “I'm surprised! I didn't think you'd look so different with them. They suit you,” he said with a smile.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, glancing to the rest of the group.

Ass Face scowled at him, “Bug eyes.”

By this point, it was just reflex.

Harry belted him one between the eyes, punching him _square_ in his stupid pretty fucking face.

“Boys!” Kimya exclaimed, yanking Harry backwards and putting herself between them, “Tha's enough!” she commanded, even as Harry gave the fucking asshole the evil eye and he glared at him while stemming the flow of blood from his nose. “Harry, apologise! Now! That was absolutely uncalled fer.”

He looked at her in shock. She arched an eyebrow and waited, _pointedly_.

He licked his lips reluctantly, “...I – am sorry,” he sighed. Kimya pursed her lips and tapped her foot, making him squirm. “It won't happen again,” he droned reluctantly.

Then she turned on Ass Face, “An' _you_ ,” she began aggressively, and Harry was treated to a very real look of alarm and trepidation on the other teenager's face. “You had best mind yer manners, young man! Y'ain't gunna be makin' any friends with comments like that, yer jest gunna be makin' more trouble fer yerself down th'line if ya can't keep a civil tongue in yer head! Apologise. Ya might not've thrown th'first punch, but yer behaviour was unacceptable as well,” she commanded, bracing her hands on her hips and glaring at him.

He looked desperately at the Retinue for support, and Weskham stepped forward to read him his own version of the riot act as well. By the end of the furious lecture from the Retainer about using manners and controlling his temper, the fifteen year old looked _hunted_ , and decidedly frazzled.

“I'm sorry,” he said quickly, desperately, “There, happy?” he demanded shortly, looking at Weskham who did _not_ look amused.

“Harry?” the man asked, looking at him over Ass Face's shoulder.

“It's fine,” he said, giving the fifteen year old's bleeding nose a look, “I _did_ hit him in the face,” he admitted. That was kind of cart'e'blanche to be pissed off and ungracious when forced to apologise, god knows he'd be exactly the same if forced to apologise to someone that had punched him in the face. Not that he had ever been forced to apologise to Dudley or any of his friends for it, they were bullies and knew damn well not to get _caught_ hitting him.

Kimya gave the Insomnian the evil eye for a moment before reverting back into smiles and sunshine, “Alright then.” She turned her attention to the others, “Are ya fellas fixin' t'make a move soon?” she asked brightly, abandoning Harry to walk up to the four men.

“Oh, yes, we need to really make a move on finding the other Royal Arms, and soon. Intelligence reads that Niflheim has managed to breech the mainland,” Regis explained with an unhappy frown. “Father wants me to finish quickly and make for Accordo,” he explained as the group began to move back towards the hotel.

Forcing Harry and Ass Face to trail after them in awkward silence, both refusing to look at the other.

At least where the other could catch them at it.

Eventually though the sniffing got a bit much though. Harry grimaced and dug for his handkerchief and held it out to the taller boy without looking at him, “Here. I _am_ sorry. I didn't mean to make you bleed,” he admitted awkwardly. Apologising was.... kind of new ground for him. He had never been the violent sort of person, so he'd never actually been forced to deal with feeling guilt over his own actions.

He found he didn't much like it. He hadn't actually _meant_ to hurt him.

“It's fine,” he grunted, sniffing again.

“Just take it. Before you bleed on your uniform,” Harry grunted. There was a moment, and then a rustle of paper before the cloth was taken.

“Thanks,” Ass Face muttered, his words muffled as he held the cloth to his nose in order to stem the blood still oozing out.

Harry hummed in acknowledgement but didn't look up at him, too busy staring in fascination at the little plaza he had never properly seen before, craning his head to look at all the flower baskets overhead, the cat fast asleep on someone's windowsill, soaking in the sun. A group of kids playing with a stray dog that had no problem with jumping into the fountain much to their noisy delight, he snorted a little as the women sat on the bench beside the fountain shrieked and jumped up when a very wet dog suddenly appeared between them and decided to shake itself.

Ass Face was watching him weirdly, and he immediately clammed up, “What?” he demanded sharply, scowling defensively. The taller boy looked away without answering, just shrugging.

Harry huffed in annoyance. Kimya was chatting happily to Regis about something, hopefully negotiating access for them to investigate Daurell Caverns, the rest of the retinue had gone into the hotel to deal with their purchases and Ass Face was following after them. He sighed, well, if he and Kimya were going to go on those hunts later today, he should probably do some restocking of their own – he had some experimentation to do with those drinks afterall, he forgot to do them earlier.

He went to the little newsagents window opposite the fountain to see what goods they had in there.

The last thing he expected as for an arm to suddenly appear around his shoulder, “You didn't come and visit me!” Ludo complained in playful tones of heartbreak as Harry stiffened under him.

“I – what?” he blurted.

The tanned young man, probably about seventeen now that Harry could actually _see_ him, long brown hair, a slightly large nose, and dark red-brown eyes, pouted at him, leaning just a little bit more against his side. “I waited and waited for you, but you never visited,” he explained poutily, “So I decided to come and visit you instead. And I'm glad I did!” he declared with a grin as he leaned back, “You look amazing with those. They really bring out your eyes.”

Harry went pink, and squirmed his way out from under the other teenager's arm. Ludo's face fell, and Harry smiled a bit awkwardly at him, feeling bad for bringing him down when he seemed genuinely pleased to see him. It was probably a good thing that Clementine wanted to be left in the van to soak herself in a dogbowl of water and sun herself to her heart's content, if she had been around his shoulders she may have bitten the older boy. “Thanks,” he managed to say. “Did you just finish work?” he asked, casting around for a safe subject to talk about that would hopefully put some _physical_ space between them.

Ludo nodded, “Yep. Slow day, but it usually is when the markets are in full harvest swing,” he admitted cheerfully. Suddenly he lit up, “Say, I know I showed you around, but how about I take you round, show you where to get the _good_ deals, yeah?” he asked enthusiastically before leaning in and reaching out to tilt Harry's head up, “With eyes like these, you could have them eating out of your hand as easily as you have me,” he teased, smirking.

He was rubbing his chin.

Harry coloured and jerked his head away, physically taking a step back, “I – have to help Kimya with a hunt later,” he said stiffly, stomach knotting up and fluttering in a way that only Cho had managed to when she approached him under the mistletoe, a strange kind of mix of adrenaline, sheer terror, and excitement that made him feel uncomfortable and kind of want to run away.

“Harry!” Clarus called from the otherside of the plaza, making the two of them jerk and look over. The majority of the Retinue had reappeared by now, their prior purchases probably tucked up in magic pockets as soon as they got some privacy. The big guy made a rough angry gesture for him to get back over with them, giving Ludo an ugly glare as he did so, he wasn't the only one either, Kimya was already hurrying over, looking concerned, while Regis and Weskham were in a quiet hissing argument, the former looking concerned and the latter agitated. Cid looked bored and not far off just walking away, at least until something Weskham and Regis said had him stiffening and looking angry. Ass Face? He was probably the only one who didn't look too bothered or concerned by what was going on, just bored.

He glanced to Ludo who had paled slightly and looked alarmed by the amount of hostility being thrown his way. “Uh, sorry, it was nice seeing you again. Bye,” the Gryffindor said with an awkward attempt at a smile before quickly meeting Kimya.

“He was getting' awful handsy, ya alright?” she asked quietly as Harry guided her back to the group of men.

“I'm fine, Kimya.”

“You looked uncomfortable as all hell,” Clarus corrected as soon as he was close enough, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder to tug him amidst them, looming over everyone's heads to watch Ludo as he quickly saw himself out of the plaza, slinking down one of the side-alleys with his proverbial tail between his legs.

Harry squirmed and shrugged his hand off, “I don't like people touching me, is all,” he admitted uncomfortably.

Kimya stiffened, looking hurt.

“No, no! You're fine!” he quickly rushed to reassure her, “I know you, it's fine, I trust you. I just – some people are just....” He shrugged helplessly. Some people were just.... no. He couldn't even say what it was about them that made him so uncomfortable, there didn't even seem to be a common thread between them all. Like, Weskham for instance. He had been nothing but kind, nothing but nice and polite and helpful and courteous, but Harry still didn't want his hands on his person. Ezma was a hard no as well, and the two couldn't have been more different than night and day. Ludo was a ...middle ground no? Harry didn't like him touching him, it was uncomfortable, but it wasn't an immediate 'hackles up get the fuck off me' reaction. Sometimes.... even Ron touching him was a hard no. _Ron_. Who had stood on a broken leg against what he believed was a Death Eater mass murderer for him.

“Tell him that next time, and if he doesn't stop, you'll know he isn't worth your time,” Weskham advised him firmly.

He sighed and nodded, wondering just how stupid or naïve they thought he was. He was unused to people flirting with him, but he _did_ know how to stand up for himself, how to protect himself. Or had they really not been paying attention?

“What are you planning to do now?” Regis asked, looking at Kimya.

She hummed, “Well, we picked up a couple'a hunts earlier. I suppose we should go an' get our gear sorted first.” She gave her skirts a wry look, “An' maybe a few more changes a'clothes. Kickin' fiends ain't easy in this get up,” she admitted with a chuckle.

“Need sum'one t'carry yer bags?” Cid teased, giving Ass Face, who hadn't been paying attention, a shove.

“Hey!” the teenager snarled, whipping around on the cackling old man.

Kimya chuckled, “I already have someone fer that,” she declared, grabbing hold of Harry who froze.

“Uh.”

Laughter went up amongst the Retinue and they cheerfully wished him luck as they left him to his doom. Ass Face smirking as he went past (stupid pretty fucking bastard fuck you), muttering under his breath about saying something nice at the funeral, even if he had to make it up. Harry glared at them all, the traitors, as they swanned off, and Kimya proceeded to drag him off to his doom.

Which wasn't as doom-y as he expected. He had some _concerns_ when she dragged him towards Rudolph's dead-end alley, but they ended up stopping at the Cutlass shop where she looked into getting hold of some metal plated, or clawed gloves, and some better caps for her boots, while Harry talked to another hunter about rifles. Apparently a lot of what the Cutlass vans sold were actually recasts of the Niflheim sniper rifles, looted from battlefields or smuggled across the borders. Lucis wasn't big on firearms to be honest, it was kind of built into their culture that honourable combat was one where both parties faced each other on equal footing. Harry gave the man a pointed look, glanced down at himself, and then looked back up. He laughed.

And that was when Rudolph _pounced_.

The hunter he was talking to stopped mid-laugh to whistle in surprise, his eyes going wide. The second Harry turned around, something huge and metal was being thrust into his arms.

“A _Legend_ is _Born!_ ” Rudolph exclaimed, sweaty, burnt, soot-streaked arms raised in raptures. Harry struggled to get a grip on the huge metal contraption in his arms before it fell and crushed his foot.

“W-what?” he squeaked, coughed, and purposefully cleared his throat, “ **What.** ”

“The Iron Assault Cannon Three!” the twenty-something year old blacksmith declared, a maniacal gleam in his eyes as suddenly his _hands_ were going _places_ and Harry tensed up violently as his limbs were forcibly rearranged to hold the – the _gun_ properly? “A precision instrument of death unmatched in the field of projectile warfare! Iron ore smelted and purified three times, heated and tempered _one hundred and fifty_ times at temperatures reaching over one thousand degrees! Look, the _smooth_ slide of the bolt action – ” he grabbed Harry's hands and grasped them against the instrument and pushed his hand back along the slide of the gun to his shoulder, and then pulled it towards himself. It.... was a bit hard, but it _was_ smooth. “The rifling of the barrel,” he continued stroking the muzzle of the weapon almost phallically. “This gun is a work of art!”

He nodded awkwardly, “Y-yes. You should be very proud,” he agreed, “Thank you for showing me.” And tried to give it back.

Rudolph shook his head and took a step back, hands lifted, “No, lad. With you, this weapon will go. To write your _destiny_ amongst the _stars_ themselves!”

What a fruitcake.

“I couldn't – _possibly_ deprive you of such a – a – fine piece of work,” he stuttered, desperately looking at Kimya from the corner of his eye as she giggled behind her hand and did absolutely _nothing to help him_. “And I don't have the money to pay you what would be ahh- _appropriate_!” he added quickly.

“Bring to me the bones and teeth and tusks of the fiends you fell!” Rudolph demanded, pointing at him in the face. “Long have I dreamed of creating weapons the likes of which the world would _tremble_ to know of. Long have my dreams gone unfulfilled!” he exclaimed, looking away, fist clenched out to the heavens, eyes squeezed shut and wet. “But now!” he exclaimed, turning to grab Harry by the shoulders, heedless to the way the Gryffindor practically turtled up, shoulders hunching up to his ears as his chin tucked down. “The first of my legends is born into your hands! And from your hands I can bring more into the world! Fetch me the things I ask for, and more legends into your hands I will pass!!”

Kimya beamed, sliding between the two of them and plucking his hands off Harry's shoulders neatly. He looked at her in complete bewilderment, and then flinched, mouth opening in pain and confusion as she tightened her grip on his hands, making him step back, and giving Harry the space he needed to physically hide behind her.

“That's _very_ generous of ya, sir,” she declared sweetly, “But I believe there's sum' _ground rules_ I'd best be layin' before anyone goes gettin' any ideas 'round here, wouldn't you agree?” she asked lightly.

Rudolph struggled like a cat presented with a bath, “Release me, woman! Free me!”

She did not, in fact, she gripped his hands a little tighter and yanked him closer before getting a hold of his ear, her smile dropping off sharply once they were face to face. “There will be no funny business wit' my charge, ya here?” she demanded harshly, making him blink at her in bewildered offence. “He's _fifteen_. Iffin' yer thinkin' a' leverin' this kinda _service_ to pressure him inta _relations_ – ”

Dragon Dick strike him down. Harry went bright red and Rudolph finally seemed to get with the programme of just what she was insinuating and _why_ not only was Harry uncomfortable but the woman was furious. He spluttered, squalling abject denials of Astrals no! He was an artist! Such impure thoughts were for _other_ mortals! He was married to his craft, what aspersions was she casting upon his honour and integrity?! Shrew! Unhand him this instant! How dare she!

“Then ya'd best be keepin' yer dirty hands t'yerself then, am I clear?!” she demanded, raising her voice above his outrage.

“Yoooooou – ” his voice shook with indignation, but she only glared at him.

“He doesn't like t'be touched by _strangers_ ,” she told him unyieldingly, giving his ear a harsh shake before letting go.

Rudolph scarpered, hands protectively held over his ear as he put as much distance as he could between himself and the 'Shrew'. “Don't forget our deal, lad!” he finally called at a comically large safe distance, he pulled a booklet from his pocket and threw it at them, “Instructions! How to make the ammunition, and maintain the weapon!”

Kimya took a single step forward and he bolted, squeaking and vanishing back to his workshop without a backwards glance.

“Um...”

He still had the gun.

Kimya sighed and went to collect the booklet, “Ya don't half attract th'crazies, do ya?” she asked him rhetorically with a shake of her head, “Maybe I should start callin' ya 'Catnip',” she mused, flipping absently through the pages.

“Don't you dare!” he spluttered.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this Ara once again crowbarring Monster Hunter into a completely unrelated fandom?
> 
> Y E S .


	11. Chapter 11

They tried to be discreet, which was why he noticed them immediately.

He paused in the middle of the street, struggling to carry both the bag of clothing that he and Kimya had bought between them, and the monster gun he had been given by Rudolph. “....Hey, Kimya.... If we get separated, where would you say the best place to meet back up is?” he asked almost absently as he started looking around, _really_ looking.

She looked confused, “Well... Accordin' t'th'tipster, there should be two havens t'th'West. Alkyrie Haven, and then Mynbrum Haven on th'path up t'Vesper from th'West,” she explained slowly, eyeing him with rising concern.

He thought back onto the map carefully. There were parking spaces at both locations, however, Alkyrie was just _before_ a tunnel according to the map, Mynbrum was after – and there was a fishing spot there. He considered plans and discarded them one after another even as he casually started moving again, linking his arm with Kimya thoughtfully as he steered her down towards the carpark.

“Okay, here's what we're going to do,” he told her casually as they got to her truck. “I want you to wait here. When Regis arrives, tell him to get in the back and under the tarp directly behind the driver's seat, okay?” he told her cheerfully, casually, even as he climbed on the flatbed and began to move her suitcases, his backpack, and their recent purchases around into better positions. “We're parked on the otherside of the stairs to the Regalia so they won't be paying this side all that much attention. Tell him to keep his head down and his mouth shut, and once you're out of the city, go and wait at Mynbrum, go fishing by yourself, and tell his Royal Dumbass to stay out of sight until his Retinue catch up, okay?” he said before making a show of snapping his fingers and quickly vaulting out of the car.

Kimya looked alarmed and confused as he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, “Imperials caught up, I'm going to go and warn the idiots, get some paint for Cid, and then get them out of the city. But to do it safely they're going to have to split up. And we can't draw attention to ourselves.”

She nodded her eyes wide, “Stay safe,” she whispered, gripping his arms.

He grinned at her, “Don't worry. I've been doing this kind of stuff since I was eleven,” he said cheerfully, “All sorts of adventures sneaking around at school after curfew.”

She didn't laugh but her lips twitched up in an anxious smile and he quickly pulled away, jogging up the stairs and first going to the little car-nickknack shop opposite them to grab sheets, paint, and a quickspray gun. Purchases in arm, he made for the Leville where he ignored the suspicious looking men sprawled out in the lobby. He waved obnoxiously at the staff with his free arm who sniffed and turned their noses up theatrically before returning to serving the gentleman at the counter who was far too clean to actually be the hunter he was pretending to be.

He shouldered open the Retinue's door, prompting yelps and curses and weapons to be drawn.

He grabbed the sword Ass Face had at his throat and impatiently shoved it aside even as he kicked the door shut behind him, “You guys have been made. Imperials are already downstairs looking for you,” he told them all impatiently. “ _Don't_ look outside you idiot! Do you want them to know what room you're in?” he snarled when Clarus was about to move for the window to get a look out even as Weskham and Regis immediately moved to start packing the belongings and items they hadn't yet, whisking them into their magical pockets.

“Well what do you _suggest_ we do then?” the big guy snapped.

“I'm getting to that!” Harry snapped as he slung the bag of paint at Cid. “It's your own damn faults for running around in fucking military uniforms and a car that _literally_ has your NAME as the licence plate! Learn some subtly when people are trying to kill you!” he snapped even as he spread his map across the table. “Ass Face, you're good with plans, get over here,” he commanded, making a come hither gesture. “Cid, how quickly do you think you can repaint the Regalia with what's in the bag?” he asked even as Ass Face came up uncomfortably close beside him.

The old man looked a bit confused as he peered into the bag, “An hour,” he admitted, “Y'got three times more paint than I need though,” he pointed out.

Harry shrugged, “I don't know paint. I didn't want you to run out. Look, the Imperials are all over the town, they're trying to be discreet so I don't think they want an open conflict around civilians, but at the same time, they're pretending to be hunters so if something _did_ happen – ”

“Niflheim won't get the blame,” Clarus agreed, dragging a hand through his hair in aggravated distress.

“What's your idea?” Ass Face asked.

Harry sighed, “I doubt anyone's going to like it. You're going to have to split up,” he began, holding a hand up to stall the protests from Regis and Clarus as they opened their mouths, “if they're smart, they'll have set up cordons outside the city, meaning that someone's going to have to act as a decoy with the Regalia,” he pointed out before pointing to the map. “I've asked Kimya to help us. One group leaves with the Regalia taking the East exit,” he explained tracing the line. “Turn left up towards Meldacio and as soon as you get into the tunnel, stop and repaint the car. Turn it around, and then drive straight back into Lestallum. With luck, they'll try to follow you with those flying bricks I hear so much about, meaning they'll try to fly to Meldacio to cut you off, or even to Vesper if they're unwilling to tangle in towns.”

Ass Face nodded slowly, “Weskham'll have to drive. If they've got airships then there's a chance they may open fire, he's our best driver. Cid'll have to go with them as the one to fix the car if something goes wrong and to repaint the car quickly.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. If, and it's a big IF, they catch wind of the Regalia taking the east exit, that'll leave the west mostly clear. I've cleared space in the back of the flatbed that would hide Regis from casual inspection under the tarp. Kimya's going to drive to here, Mynbrum haven, pretend to be on a fishing trip or something. She's as civilian as you can get out here, they shouldn't look too hard at her, and she's got camping equipment in the back along with her suitcases. He's just got to get there without drawing attention. Change your clothes, wear some sunglasses and a dorky hat, have a crummy sword on open display, no one'll look too close.”

“That leaves us three as a distraction,” Ass Face summed up, looking between himself and Clarus as well as Harry who nodded.

“If we can cause a bit of a ruckus here in the town, draw attention to us, and then disperse to meet in the tunnel just north of Alkyrie haven, then Weskham and Cid can pick us up as they pass through,” Harry finished explaining. “And with the Regalia a different colour, any aerial inspections are going to pass over us.”

Regis grimaced, “This plan puts both you and Lady Auburnbrie in considerable risk, I am not sure I am comfortable with that,” he admitted unhappily.

Harry looked up at him coolly, “We're hunters, your Highness. We signed up knowing the risks and accepting them. The innocent people living here in Lestallum didn't. Better us than them.” He would never forgive them if the nice jeweller guy or his wife or any number of his children got hurt in the crossfire of this stupid bullshit. None of the people here deserved to be put at risk, they just wanted to get on and live their lives as safely as possible, and they deserved to. Even crazy Rudolph, handsy Ludo, and the 'cannibal' ladies.

“Cor?” Clarus asked looking at the team 'tactician' for a second opinion.

Ass Face shook his head, “It covers all our bases,” he admitted, “And I can't think of a way that gets the Regalia out of Lestallum as well as ensuring the safety of his Highness,” he added with a frown.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Time's up,” Harry declared almost cheerfully, jerking his head at the window with a meaningful look at everyone.

Thankfully the Retinue were really able to get the lead out of their legs when presented with a path of action and a reason to pursue it. The Prince threw a dagger out of the window and was gone in a flash of blue light a split second later. Weskham and Cid climbed out of the balconette and Harry saw them jump to the side to a different room before pulling themselves up onto the roof. Clarus didn't bother with subtly, he just threw himself out of the open window the exact same way Harry had earlier that very day. Ass Face vanished into the bathroom, and Harry opened the door.

All within thirty seconds.

As expected, the suspicious guy from downstairs was at the door. They stared at each other, “S'up? Did ya need somethin'?” Harry asked, channelling a little bit of the accent he had been carefully trying _not_ to pick up over the last three months into his voice.

“Are your parents in, little boy?” the man asked almost snootily.

Harry let the door open a little further and folded his arms, giving the guy his best bitch face, “Do I look like I _need_ parental permission?” he demanded sharply before giving him a sceptical look up and down. “Kinda clean fer a hunter, ain't ya?” he asked, “Must not've been doin' this fer long, huh?”

His Snooty Bastardiness gave him an evil glare before sniffing, “Apologies, I thought I saw a name I recognised registered to this room.”

Harry sniffed, “Must've just missed 'em then. Manager let me have this room quick an' cheap since Housekeepin' haven't even been in yet.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“I'm a _hunter_ , numb nuts. I know I'm a lil' small, but the huge fuck off gun and dogtags didn' give it away, Greenhorn?” he demanded incredulously. “I paid so I could use the shower quick before goin' out on th'next hunt. Caravan's always outta water by now.”

“Fascinating. I see. I am _sorry_ for disturbing you,” the man declared with complete dis-interest before turning around and walking away, not even bothering to go to the room he probably rented with the expressed purpose of actually getting up to the second floor of the building. Harry audibly scoffed and grumbled and slammed the door shut before turning around.

“You can stop hiding in the bathroom now,” he stated plainly, and a fully kitted out Ass Face, sword under arm, combat knife on his thigh (holy shit that was belted tight and his leg was about as thick as Harry's head the fuck he was _fifteen this was illegal_ ), and a gun to his other. Harry ignored the weird flutter in the pit of his stomach as he quickly went to grab his map up, “Do you all have mobile phones, or is Clarus the only lucky boy?” he asked.

“We've all got them,” Ass Face said.

Harry nodded, “Good, we can at least coordinate. Is it just call functions or is text possible?”

“Call and text.”

“Send a message to Regis to text when he's out of the city, one to everyone else NOT to contact him until they get the all clear. We don't need a phone jingle going off during a car check to give him away,” Harry explained with a sigh as he unslung his gun from his shoulder and dropped it onto the bed to rub his shoulder.

Ass Face nodded, summoning the 80's style brick mobile into his hand, “We'll have to wait until Cid and Weskham make their move before causing any trouble here. We can't risk drawing the Empire _into_ Lestallum,” he muttered as his thumbs click-click-clicked on the buttons.

“You two are going to have to be pretty visible in this troublemaking,” Harry warned, “We want them confused, wondering if the Prince got away in the car, or if he's still in the city. Double-bluff them. I should have figured out an escape route for Clarus....” he cursed, rubbing his face in agitation.

“Clarus likes rock-climbing. He can just go the long way around on the mountains,” Ass Face said dismissively, click-click-clicking.

“Yeah, and get his ass shot when the Empire flies over head and goes 'hm, who is this fancily dressed idiot running around the mountainside?', I wonder,” Harry quipped sarcastically chewing on his thumbnail. “He's going to have to get picked up by Weskham and Cid here,” he decided after a long pause. “You and I can escape easily enough, change your clothes, lose the hat. If it doesn't crack your face, you could try smiling. They won't be looking for a pair of teenagers travelling together. They'd be looking for one with an older guy, or a far larger group.”

He was probably going to need to join in on this. He dug out the manual he got from Rudolph about his new toy, might as well put it to good use.

Whoa, what was _this_?

Status effect bullets? Elemental bullets? Piercing, slicing, burst, _sticky?_

“You wouldn't happen to have any Sleeping Herbs, needleberry, and Huskberry in those magic pockets of yours, would you?” he asked, reading the instructions of how to combine the two properly with a smoke pellet to crate a fast acting sedative that would put down small groups with a single shot or even huge monsters with two or three.

Ass Face looked at him in confusion but, he summoned them all the same, “Why do you need them?” he asked as Harry jumped up and quickly snatched them.

“Well, according to the instructions, if I combine these right. I can basically make a knock-out gas grenade I can shoot with that,” he explained, jerking a thumb at the Iron Assault on the bed, even as he twisted the top of the huskberry off. “Going to have to do a lot of foraging when I get a chance later,” he muttered to himself as he began to work.

It was probably a good thing he was used to potion ingredient prep, because he was able to make at least three 'Tranq Shot' by the time Ass Face's phone went off, announcing that Weskham and Cid had left the city, and made contact with a cordon of soldiers and MTs just outside the city. And yes, they had an airship with them. The two teenagers exchanged looks, and Harry snatched up his shot, shoving them in his pockets before grabbing his cannon, the phone going off again to announce that Clarus had 'dropped' in on a few soldiers in the market.

“Let's get this party started then,” Harry muttered, “Go out through the main entrance, I'll take the window.” Unlike them, he still had to come back here later, he didn't particularly want the Empire to know his face.

They split, climbing with the cannon was _hard_ , it was monstrously heavy even just carrying the damn thing. Hunting with it was going to be.... trying. Good thing it was sturdy, he may end up having to ditch it in favour of faster means of combat if the enemy got close enough – think about it later, deal with Imperials now.

Up on the roof of the Leville, he could see over to the west, Kimya's little beaten up blue flatbed off in the distance, at a cordon – but already he could see soldiers abandoning it and heading for a second airship behind it. Likely as not they would be heading straight for Weskham and Cid. He quickly jumped to a different roof, huffing and puffing under the weight of his cannon as he made for the market where he could see Clarus cheerfully holding a mostly one-sided brawl. Honestly, it looked more like a lion playing with its cubs, gently batting the little things around enough to stun them but not kill them as they got back up and came back for more without much issue. He was drawing attention and Harry could hear shouting coming from the main street now.

Clarus had his stuff in hand, so he left the man to it and climbed his way to the main road where Ass Face – was not nearly so restrained if the destroyed and smoking remnants of MTs littered around him was any indication. Men and women were running away from the main street in terror, and more soldiers were coming out of the streets, apparently realising their cover was blown, or that a member of the Prince's Retinue was present and they could attempt a capture.

He was.... he was good, Harry had to admit. When they had been fighting earlier he hadn't really had the _sight_ or the temperament to really pay attention to what Ass Face had actually been doing, but watching now, Harry had to admit, the other teenager was absolutely _devastating_ with a blade. He swallowed a little because, he had _literally_ physically thrown himself at that with his bare hands, both of them had nearly drawn swords against each other more than once, and Harry wasn't so proud as to think he had the _technical_ skill to actually tangle with that and survive. There was also the simple fact that.... Ass Face was just _physically_ stronger than him. He was literally batting soldiers twice Harry's weight around like it was negligible.

“What the fuck do they feed people in Insomnia?” he demanded in dismay as he readied his gun, and then paused.

Why were half of the soldiers literally vanishing like _daemons did?_

He recognised that inky black smoke and _horrible_ feeling like foul popping soap bubbles. Why were the Empire's soldiers giving him the same sensation as they crumpled into pieces and sparks, leaking black smoke?

Were his bullets even going to _effect_ them?

No wait – that group were definitely human, the ones wearing the fake hunter leathers and casual clothes. He loaded, sighted, breathed, and shot. He aimed at their feet so that the explosion of gas would rush up their noses, or even smack them full in the face if they were stupid enough to look down. Which they were.

Yelps and shouts went up, and the group of four dropped like puppets with their strings cut, sprawling out across the main road like ragdolls.

Ass Face destroyed the last of the Daemon Soldiers just as his phone went off. He checked it, and rushed into the alleys, back towards the Leville. Curious, Harry quickly followed, and once they were somewhere discreet, he carefully climbed down.

Ass Face nodded as soon as he dropped down beside him. “Message from Wesk, they made it to the tunnel, they've started painting the car,” he explained before glancing to the side and shoving Harry back further into the alley and lunging forward. Cursing under his breath, Harry struggled back to his feet, ignoring the bruises that were probably forming across his lower back thanks to landing on his gun. By the time he got his feet under him and peered around the corner, Ass Face was _gone_.

“God _damnit_ ,” the Gryffindor cursed under his breath.

Which way did he go?

“You there!” a voice shouted from behind him. Harry jerked and turned to see an Imperial pointing a gun at him. There was no way he was going to get his weapons up in time to shoot or stab him first.

Harry lifted his hands and put an appropriately confused and fearful expression on his face. “Can – can I help you, sir?”

The Imperial looked at him and then shook his head, looking over to another soldier further back on the main road, “It's not him, sir! Get out of here kid, dangerous criminals are running around.”

An idea popped into his head, “Criminal? I'll help you look, sir!” he said, dropping his hands, “I'm a hunter. If there's something threatening people – ”

The soldier actually ruffled his hair, of all things, the condescending twat, “You're a good kid. Best leave it to the professionals though. Fiends are one thing, but people are worse.” Well, he wasn't wrong there.

The two soldiers left, and Harry pulled a face at their retreating backs. He didn't look _that_ young, did he? ...Did the glasses make that much of a difference?

“Hey, you!” He turned, spotting some of the staff of the Leville clustered around the door, looking frightened and concerned, “Did – did the Prince get out safely?” the man half-hissed half called.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, “Can't answer that – security,” he refuted, giving them a quick toothy grin before hefting his gun and making for the market where he last saw Clarus.

He was there, his MT playmates no where to be found, though given how he was now leaning against his broadsword as he fiddled with his phone he had finally stopped playing with his food and actually got to the act of cutting them down. A few soldiers were there around him, whether they were alive though.... none of them were moving as Harry cautiously approached.

Harry saw the way his hands tightened on the handle of his broadsword, and stopped dead, “It's me,” he called quietly, and the grip relaxed. “You alright?” he asked fully coming out from behind the stalls – looked like everyone had done the smart thing and fled the moment the fight kicked off. Though given how the Retinue hadn't been quiet about their presence, and Niflheim had already breeched the mainland, they might have been _expecting_ something like this to happen.

Clarus nodded, sniffing dismissively, “Fine. Hardly worth even writing home about,” he complained giving the fallen soldiers a disdainful glower. “Where's Cor?” he demanded with a frown, “Thought he'd be stickin' to you like glue...”

The Gryffindor wrinkled his nose, “He shoved me down an alley and took off some five minutes ago.” Clarus stared at him with a raised eyebrow, genuinely surprised. Harry shrugged in defensive confusion, “I don't fucking know. Look, we're going to have to lay low for a little bit until they get here with the car. Ass Face and I can get out whenever, those soldiers aren't going to be looking for a pair of teenagers, and they've already marked me as a non-threat.”

“Huh, really?” the big guy rumbled, standing straight.

“Yeah. They said there were dangerous criminals on the loose, when I offered to _help_ they told me to stay clear and let the professionals handle it. Condescending twat,” he complained bitterly dragging a hand through his hair grumpily.

The Shield's phone went off, prompting him to pull it back out and check. “Regis. He and Kimya just passed through the tunnel south of the meeting point, they're clear,” he listed, and Harry wasn't imagining the way he relaxed by several degrees with the news. The phone trilled again and he nodded, “Weskham. They're about half done with the car. Cid decided to save time and leave the roof unpainted as a statement piece.”

Harry grimaced, “As long as he's pulled the plates off. You guys really need to learn how to be discreet.”

“Royalty shouldn't have to be in their own country,” Clarus retorted with a glower at him.

“They should when their car is left unattended and bombs can be slipped under them by any number of enemy sympathisers,” Harry pointed out as if speaking to a simpleton. Uncle Vernon used to say, you could always tell who was in the armed forces, or connected to them, in a supermarket carpark – they would be checking under their vehicles for bombs before they got in. It kind of stuck with Harry a lot because he _did_ see people doing that in London, in Surrey. He remembered Mister Chambers outside school one day, Dudley had thrown a kid's design tech project over his fence where it landed on his front garden path. The walls were really high so there was no way a bunch of eight year olds were getting in to collect it, and Dudley kept hitting the kid it belonged to, so it was left there. Harry was forced to wait for Dudley to finish his flag-rugby club and remembered watching a whole bunch of police come screaming around the corner and men in funny outfits bursting out of their vans to rush into Mister Chamber's front garden. Harry was too young to know the IRA from the HMRC, but the impact that the Ireland bombings left still lingered even now, not to mention all the security measures he was forced to undergo just this past year alone due to Voldemort's return.... that they weren't even being the least little bit cautious was frankly asinine.

He scoffed, looking perturbed all the same, “No one's going to shove bombs under our car.”

“Do you really want to take that risk?” Harry asked darkly, “All the magic in the world isn't going to bring someone back from the dead, Clarus. You're his Shield right? I don't know what that means in this country, but bodyguards back home have to do more than just deflect a bullet. Use your brain, I know you have one. If they really want him dead, you honestly think they're going to try and be honourable about it?”

Tellingly, Clarus went very quiet at that, looking troubled, and refusing to make eye contact.

“Go hide in the Leville. The staff there seem to be supporters,” he suggested hefting his gun, “I'm going to try and find Ass Face.”

He didn't wait for a response before taking the alley behind him, hopefully the soldiers wouldn't be trying to get in to the plant in order to harass the women there, he didn't want to think about what a bunch of meat-heads would do in a place with so much delicate equipment. Not to mention the sheer amount of magic contained within the shards potentially going wild.

He burst out of the end of the alley, skidded to a stop, and promptly dove back into it, biting back curses.

At least Ass Face kept their attention and none of the soldiers currently surrounding him in front of the EXINERIS plant noticed Harry's sudden arrival and then withdrawal. He cursed under his breath, peering around the corner, he couldn't get a good view, but.... that many guns.... somehow he didn't think Ass Face could handle those kinds of numbers, not when they had guns to attack at range. Not unless he had some handy magical shield or something.

And Harry had only two Tranq shots left. He needed to make them count.

He scaled the nearest building, climbing up to the roof using the scaffolding around the fire escape to get there. He could see the whole plaza from there, including the firing line that he _hadn't_ seen from his previous position. Stupid Ass Face running off on his own and getting into _this_ fucking mess.

Harry loaded up his shot.

A split second late pale blue-white smoke exploded amidst the firing line and the second group of gunners over by the alleyway, leaving just the trio with swords who had been stood in front now without their back up.

Ass Face made quick work of them before looking up at the roof where Harry was slinging the Iron Assault back onto his shoulder and already beginning to climb back down.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked once they were level, giving him a look up and down. Not even a hair out of place. Stupid. Making him worry over nothing.

He shook his head. “I'm fine.”

“Did you see the messages?” he asked instead of anything else as he hopped over the sleeping Imperials, gesturing at Ass Face to follow him down the main road to the left – if they could get onto the second alley, then they would be able to get all the way to the Leville without a problem, but also be able to duck down side alleys if they needed to.

He had not, actually, and took a precious few seconds to summon his brick and quickly check.

Harry waited until he was done before asking if they should make some more noise, Ass Face shook his head negative. “No. If we draw too much attention to Lestallum, they'll just come back, and try to box the rest of us in here. We should lay low for now.”

“Easier said than done,” Harry pointed out dryly tugging him a bit further into the alleyway as the sound of boots thundered up ahead. “This place is like a kicked over ant-hill right now.” There was _somewhere_ they could hide – it was the same place Clementine lead him to where he found those guys screwing against the wall, it was probably one of the most discreet areas of the city thinking about it. “This way,” he whispered and lead the way down another back alley and to the very edge of the city, hugging the rock wall down to a tiny little balcony. He quickly glanced up the alley, it was definitely the one they needed for a quick get away which was a bonus, he could see a few locals taking their chances with the chaos happening elsewhere, rushing from place to place.

He turned around and quickly snatched Ass Face's stupid beret, “Get changed, quickly,” he whispered, “Run around in a uniform and they're going to know who you are immediately,” he whispered, shoving the hat at him before checking the other alley and jerking backwards when he spotted a group of soldiers at the far end. “Hurry!” he hissed.

He was already changed.

Jeans, brown work boots, button-up blue shirt over a white vest, weird black almost military style bracers strapped to his arms with throwing knives tucked into the fabric, his sleeves rolled up.

Harry stalled for a split second.

That was entirely unfair. He was a hormonal fifteen year old boy _this was not fucking fair!_

He shook himself and rushed over, dropping down to yank his jeans out of his boots, “Shoelaces catch on damn-near fucking everything out in the wild, never tuck yer boots in,” he whispered quickly, not looking up as he quickly pulled them down over his boots. “Don't know what they do in your home, but I've never seen a teenager with his shirt tucked in either,” he added in a disbelieving undertone as he yanked at the taller boy's shirt without getting up.

There was a clatter the exact second Ass Face grabbed the back of his shirt, and Harry jumped to his feet as if burnt, startled and trying to put space between them even as the asshole stepped in front of him. He felt his chest give a hard thud of horror at the sight of the soldiers aiming guns at them from the mouth of the alleyway – they took too long!

One of them turned back the way they came, “Nothing, sir! Just some handsy teenagers. You two,” he barked turning back towards them in disgust, “Either keep it in your pants or get a room. Scram!”

Harry could feel his legs wavering, “Y-yessir,” he squeaked, grabbing the taller boy's arm in his own cold and shaking one and practically dragging him down the other alleyway out of sight.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy _shit_ – no one's ever actually pointed a _gun_ at him before....

Is he shaking? Yeah. A little bit. Walk it off, Potter, Basilisks and Acromantula nests are worse than a couple of pea-shooters – man up.

He swallowed against the horrible hard acid rising up his throat as he stopped beside a side-alley, glancing up it to make sure no one was there before darting across it. The food court was empty when they reached it, he could see the tipster in the window of his kitchen gesturing a young couple to quickly cross over and join him from where they had been hiding behind an upturned table. Harry waited until they were across before risking it and darting to their previous hiding spot.

Ass Face tightened his grip a split second making Harry look at him, he pointed up the plaza to where a group of men were arguing with an _actual_ hunter, a dirty and irate man with a huge mace at his hip.

Harry glanced back down the main-street and couldn't see anyone. He glanced over at Ass Face and gestured to their destination, he looked between it and the soldiers with a small grimace but nodded. If he had been in his uniform they would have opened fire without hesitation, hopefully they wouldn't look too closely at him in his day-clothes, or whatever it was he was wearing.

Harry bolted, and thankfully, Ass Face was actually able to keep up as they darted across open ground – the soldiers looked, of course they did, but none of them reacted. They were looking for a single teenager in a military uniform with a sword. Not two teenagers in civvies with guns and combat knives.

They were halfway down the alley when Ass Face's phone pinged – a message from Cid, they were finished with the paint and on their way back. Clarus needed to get his ass in gear and ready for a pick-up.

There were soldiers outside the Leville, _shit_ – no, yes, yes shit, but he couldn't see any sign of them blockading the hotel or setting up a cordon. Either Clarus wasn't there, or they didn't know. Harry bit his lower lip, wondering how to clear them – he didn't have any ammo left, and judging by the way Ass Face tightened his grip on his hand, he knew it too. Only three shots, all of which were spent. And Harry – he didn't want to tangle with a human being with actual bullets. He could feel his hands beginning to shake a little again. He didn't want to kill anyone. Fiends and daemons were one thing, but actual human people? He shuddered violently at the thought.

Ass Face suddenly passed in front of him, dragging him down the only alley on this path, the one that lead directly back to the main road on the left. Harry's breath caught, holy shit he was close, too close, no thank you. But he wasn't even looking at him to notice the discomfort, peering back out into the alley they had been in a second ago. Harry grimaced against the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and slithered his way to the other entrance of the alley.

He peered out onto the main-street, the soldiers he had knocked unconscious were still there, sprawled in the road, getting one hell of a sunburn. But he couldn't see anyone else near-by.

Was that –

He turned and caught Ass Face's shirt sleeve, gesturing at him to take a look as soon as he looked over. The taller teenager peered over his shoulder and Harry pointed at the Mini-mart – at Clarus in the window, drinking something chilled and keeping an eye out on the main road.

“Mother fucker,” the larger boy growled, before making a weird grunting noise and yanking Harry backwards, covering his mouth and pointing in the opposite direction, towards the carpark where a group of men climbed up the stairs looking grumpy and thwarted.

The two stayed frozen in place, waiting in tense silence to see where they went.

The soldiers milled around, and then went to go and wake their companions up, slapping their faces and kicking them in the side until they were awake, groggy, but pliant as they picked up their weapons and tottered after their commanding officers in the other direction, away from them, up towards the east exit.

Harry breathed out slowly through his nose, feeling Ass Face slowly let him go.

The sound of engines filled the air, and a second later a horrible teal coloured car blasted down the main road, country music playing on full whack, soft-top raised, and screeched to a stop outside the Mini-mart. Cid climbed out, making a bit of a show of looking as greasy and 'civilian mechanic' as possible as he marched his way into the Mini-mart. A second later, Clarus came out in jeans and a button up with long enough sleeves to hide his tattoo, and a beanie hat, he got into the Regalia without fuss, and a moment later Cid swanned out of the Mini-mart without a damn care as a bunch of soldiers came rushing out of the alleyway. He had a six pack in one hand and was drinking out of a bottle of root-beer with the other.

He didn't even look at them as he got back into the teal car, and Weskham tore off without giving the soldiers a chance to get a good look at who was inside, or the actual make of the car.

The soldiers cursed, exclamations of 'where the fuck are they – keep looking – find them!' going up from the SOs that sent men scattering once again.

The two waited until the bulk of them were gone before creeping out of the alley and onto the main road, hugging the wall as they made their way to the western exit, they darted over the alley-opening that would lead directly to the Leville. No one noticed them, thankfully, and the two were able to actually get to the exit of the city –

Only to see a group of men coming _up_ said main road towards the city.

Ass Face 'tch'ed impatiently, and Harry felt him shift, letting go of his hand to get ready to draw his sword out of his magic pocket.

“No!” he yelped, whipping around to grab his hand, “No! You'll draw too much attention!” Harry hissed, glancing up the main road to where a group of men crossed over to barge their way into the Mini-mart, before looking back at the approaching group with rising alarm. They were going to get _caught!_ “We can't fight everyone!” he snapped desperately, pulling on him.

Fuck what was this guy made of? He didn't even shift. A second group of men came up from the carpark behind them and Harry was about to lose his shit.

“ _Cor!_ Please!”

Ass Face snapped his head around to look at him, and Harry took his chance to drag him down a side street out of sight, this time he came without resisting as the Gryffindor tucked them into someone's doorstep out of sight. It was... a tight squeeze, but it took them out of immediate sight and casual observation, which was all he really cared about right now for his blood pressure.

“Once we're out of the city, we can just hop the fence at the side of the road,” he whispered, ignoring his thundering heart-beat. Fuck. Who knew he'd be so freaked out by fucking guns? Well, it made sense if he thought about it. All his life guns and bombs were the scary things. Magic not so much. Magic didn't even exist, wasn't on his radar as a kid. But guns? Guns and bombs and all the myriad ways to die by them were hammered into his head before he could even pronounce the word. He had been conditioned to be afraid of them before he'd ever encountered them.

He leaned out to peer down the road, and blanched when he saw a group of soldiers at the bottom, gesturing towards them – not them _specifically_ but in their direction. They broke up, two remaining and the rest moving off down the main road, and Harry felt his stomach drop when they hefted their weapons and turned to come their way.

Shit.... shit shit shit shit shi-

He looked up.

...fuck it. It worked last time.

“Do _not_ stab me for this,” he hissed, making Ass Face frown at him in confusion, right before Harry reached up and mashed their lips together. He grunted in alarm, stumbling a little. Harry growled a little, breaking away, “Do you _want_ to get shot?” he hissed against the Insomnian's mouth, “Stop dicking around and put your fucking back into – mmph!”

He put his back into it.

He _really_ did.

Between one word and the next, Harry was being shoved backwards against the wall, bent over his own gun, and kissed senseless, Cor's tongue halfway down his throat, one hand knotted in his hair, and the other at his waist dragging him firmly against a body that had _absolutely no fucking right being that muscular at fifteen what do they_ feed _him for fuck sake?!_

It felt like he couldn't breathe, his stomach was twisting in on itself as he tried to get his feet back under him, hands scrabbling at the Insomnian's back as he tried to straighten up. Cor made an annoyed sound deep in the back of his throat and suddenly the gun jammed into his back moved, turning to face downwards with one harsh push before Harry found himself getting kissed within an inch of his life. Hands ran down his sides, a thigh kneeing his legs open to get between them, get closer, it felt like there just wasn't enough _air_ – he whined in the back of his throat, shuddering and flinching as the taller of them ground up against him.

Harry – lost track of, well, just about everything.

This was – _nothing_ like kissing Cho Chang.

Overwhelmed didn't even come close to what was going on right now, he didn't know what he was doing just that it felt good and right now, he didn't want to stop as lips trailed down his neck, hands pinning his hips in place as they thrust against each other.

And then it all came crashing down with a wave of _icy_ cold water, and an old biddy with a broom.

The two yelled in surprise and alarm as they were drenched, springing apart and scrambling away from the now open doorway and the old woman as she yelled at them. Harry spluttered, confused, dazed, ducking as she threw the red plastic bucket she had just upended over them at his head.

“Not on my doorstep! Not on my doorstep!” she raged, snatching up a broom.

Harry choked as she ran at them, bolting down the road away from her as she swung wildly at their retreating backs, hollaring about how their parents should be ashamed of them, doing such things on the doorsteps of decent Astral abiding folk, git! Don't ever let her catch you doing such things on her doorstep again! There was another loud clatter as she threw the bucket after them again as they scrambled out of the street, past two soldiers laughing their fucking asses off at them, and out of Lestallum proper.

The Gryffindor coughed, wiping his face and dragging a hand through his hair once they were clear, turning as he slowed to a walk to get a look behind them in disbelief as he saw the old woman waving her broom at them in the distance, still shouting, though god only knew what was coming out of her mouth, she was too far away to hear.

He shook his head and turned around again, shivering a little in his wet clothes before realising a certain someone was looking at him with very blue eyes and a very red face.

Harry went scarlet and glared at him, “This never happened. Got it?” he hissed through gritted teeth. “It was – to throw off the Imperials. _Don't_ go getting any ideas!”

He stormed past him without another word.

It never happened, and no one was ever going to hear about it, _because he was going to take it to his fucking grave. Ass Face's too if he even_ thought _about opening his fucking mouth._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NYAHAHAHAHAHAA 
> 
> How do you like me NOW?!!


	12. Chapter 12

It was amazing how far embarrassment and spite could carry you when the source of it was following on your heels. He was aware of Dumbass opening his mouth a time or two as they ran, but every time he did Harry sped up, leaving him behind for a short distance, forcing him to catch up and close his mouth. And what few fiends they encountered ensured that any further attempts at communication were a no go.

By the time they reached the tunnel, Harry was tired, running on pure spite alone, the sun was beginning to set, and Dumbass had apparently grown fed up of being ignored if the way he suddenly sped up and grabbed his wrist was any indication.

“Get the fuck off me!” the Gryffindor snarled, turning and trying to yank his hand away. It was about as useless as he expected it to be, given what he'd seen earlier in the day.

“We need to talk,” Dumbass insisted, not telling him go.

“I've said all I'm _going_ to!”

“Well I _haven't_ ,” he grit out jerking him around. The _only_ reason Harry didn't lash out and punch him in the face again was because he _promised_ Kimya he wouldn't do it again – but if he didn't let go in the next thirty seconds, there was going to be blood, and it wasn't going to be his.

There was a loud car-horn from up ahead, making the two stop and turn, the Regalia was just up ahead and Cid was hanging out the window, “Git yer asses in gear! Nightfall's a comin'!” he shouted. Dumbass's grip loosened in surprise for all of a split-second, but it was enough for Harry to wrist and pull free the way he used to whenever Dudley or Uncle Vernon grabbed hold of him. It hurt, he was going to bruise, and the bastard's short-cut fingernails scraped a bit, but he was quick to put some distance between them as he hurried to the waiting car.

“Alright?” Weskham asked as soon as he slid in.

“Fine,” Harry grunted, shifting carefully as Dumbass climbed in beside him, making sure they weren't touching. “Have – have you heard from Kimya?” he asked anxiously, sitting forward as the car set off again.

“Naw. But there ain't been any further messages from Regis, so they're probably fine,” Cid assured him from the front seat.

Harry made a faint sound of dismay and disappointment, drooping in place.

“Been meaning to ask,” Clarus began, “Where'd you get the weird gun?” he asked, pushing at it awkwardly. It was.... probably a little too big to still be slung across his back while in the backseat with other people. Harry wriggled out of the strap and carefully slid around it so it would be between his legs instead of digging into anyone's legs.

“...Rudolph made it for me,” he admitted slowly.

Dumbass snapped his head around in the corner of his eye, glaring harshly, “The crazy blacksmith in the alley?” he asked roughly, echoing back Harry's own words when Kimya told them about him. Harry didn't answer, gritting his teeth and glaring out of the front window with tense shoulders, Cid caught his eye in the rearview mirror, eyebrow cocked in askance. He shook his head minutely, lips pressing into a line, he was not explaining this, and he was _not_ talking to that asshole, like, ever.

Clarus looked between them in abject confusion and rising alarm as the whole care filled with an incredibly tense almost hostile silence.

“...Did something happen?” the Shield asked.

“ _Nothing happened!_ ” Harry snarled, and then immediately sucked in a sharp breath. Way to convince them, Potter, with that ability in lying he should run for _Minister of Magic_. He was a _shoe in_. He sighed in disgust, “It's fine. Nothing important happened,” he promised quietly as they came out of the tunnel into a dusky red sky and the flickering of street lights. He stiffened and leaned forward slightly when he saw Kimya's truck in the distance beneath the huge bright spotlights on the layby next to the haven, he could also see a campfire and a pair of tents set up on the glowing platform of stone.

“Doesn't _sound_ like nothin',” Clarus said slowly, suspiciously, looking between Harry and Dumbass who hunched down in his seat, glaring down at his clenched fists on his knees, eyes near enough slitted shut in discomfort and anger. “Cor?” he prompted seriously.

Harry tensed up, glaring determinedly out of the front window.

Dumbass didn't answer, and the silence in the car thickened even further as Weskham pulled into the layby and killed the engine. The retainer turned around to question them, but the two teenagers were already scrambling out of the car in order to escape him. Harry could already see Kimya running across the grass, dodging rocks, in order to get to them, her skirts hiked up.

“Are ya alright?!” she called, practically colliding into him, hands checking him over desperately.

“I'm fine,” he promised quietly, leaning into her as she hugged him, tucking his face into her neck and breathing out slowly, feeling the adrenaline from the last two hours ebbing out and leaving him just _tired_. Tired and hungry and miserable and _confused_.

He shuddered and squeezed her a little tighter. He wanted to go home.

She rubbed his back, “You sure, Catnip?” she asked softly, stroking his hair.

He nodded, “Yeah. Just – not used to having guns shoved in my face,” he admitted before eventually pulling away, noticing that the rest of the Retinue had retreated to the Haven giving them some privacy but Cid hovered at the edge of the rock face, keeping an eye out in case anything spawned or tried to sneak up on the two in the small strip of unprotected space between the layby and the haven. Kimya let him go but stopped him from going too far by cupping his cheek and peering into his face properly.

“That ain't all, is it?” she prompted gently.

He shrugged, looking away, “Homesickness. People didn't try to shoot me there.”

She hummed, unconvinced, but didn't question him further as she stepped back and then reached into her skirt pocket, scooping Clementine out and gently passing her over, “Regis was a little surprised to find himself sharing hiding spaces with a certain someone,” she explained with humour as she poured the tiny serpent into Harry's cupped hands.

“Oops,” Harry said with only a little bit of humour as he transferred her up to his neck. She was quite noisy about how he had disappeared and how her sunning space was covered up and hidden, and her water bowl was almost up-ended by the flatface that tasted like the hot-space with the tangy rocks.

Then her tongue flicked out and she started demanding to know why he smelt like the other young flatface, and his face fell probably faster than Viktor Krum chasing the snitch at the World Cup last year. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his lips together as she hissed enthusiastically about how his scent was strong, had he chosen a mate? She didn't realise he was an egg layer as well. At least the male that chose him was strong, that would mean good hatchlings.

Harry reached up and gently pressed a finger to her snout to silence her, ignoring the bemused and amused look on Kimya's face. Clementine flicked her tongue against his finger thoughtfully before declaring that he wasn't allowed to leave her again, and she wanted to meet the other flatface that was interested in him to see if he was good enough. If his colouring wasn't good enough she wasn't going to accept him. Harry actually snorted at that as he and Kimya made their way to the haven.

The Retinue froze as soon the two appeared, Cid beside them having done absolutely nothing to warn them what so ever, the group of men surrounding an increasingly harassed looking Dumbass. They _almost_ scattered like guilty children, almost.

He ignored them, too tired to deal with people right now, he just wanted to get this gun off his back and go to bed. So that was exactly what he did, passing them all without a word and crawling into the brand-new tent that he and Kimya had bought. It was big enough for the both of them to be comfortable with their belongings, and Kimya had already set up two bed-rolls with blankets and pillows for them, she'd even flipped over one of her suitcases and placed it between them with a lantern giving off a faint glow. She was an utter gem.

He slung the Iron Assault off and nudged it into the corner where it wouldn't get in the way before sitting down and beginning to pull his boots off. His backpack was on the foot of his bed along with a small pile of carefully folded and detagged clothing – his portion of what they had bought earlier that very day before he realised how many Imperials were prowling around Lestallum. He got changed into the soft long-sleeved top and baggy cotton sweats he bought for the expressed purpose of being his night clothes before crawling into his bed, taking his glasses off and pulling the blankets up. Pausing only briefly to lay a hand out for Clementine so he could put her on his chest.

She flicked her tongue out at him as he ran his fingertips gently down her head, shifting so that the edge of his sleeping bag was over the majority of her tiny coils.

“ _I – miss my home. Do you?_ ” he eventually asked her quietly.

“ _What is a home?_ ” she asked.

He paused, giving it thought as he tried to think of what a snake would consider a home, because it wasn't going to be anything that a human did. “ _Your territory. Where you hatched. Where you hunted. Where you would find your own male and lay your own eggs later. The place you were before,_ ” he explained slowly, keeping his voice quiet so that no one outside would hear.

She lay her head down on his chest, clear membrane flicking over her eyes in a kind of blink. “ _No. This is better. Warmer. You listen when I want things and get them for me. This is better. You miss your territory?_ ” she asked and he said he did, sighing and staring up at the dim roof of the tent. “ _Go back then_.”

“ _I can't. Someone took me away. Like I took you. But I didn't want them to,_ ” he explained softly.

“ _Did you bite them? You should have. Like this. I will teach you. Flatfaces do not know how to bite properly. Here._ ” She clamped her jaws down over his thumb, her tiny coils writhing up beneath the weight of the sleeping bag with some difficulty as she wriggled them over his hand and tightened them. It wasn't even enough to cause him discomfort, and it was adorable to listen to her attempt to coach him with her mouth full. She released his thumb from her jaws and told him with _great_ dignity that she had not used her fangs, but she would demonstrate them properly later on far worthier prey so that he could learn properly.

He snorted, smiling and somehow managing to feel better despite himself, “ _You can use them on Dumbass if he touches me again. You have my permission._ ”

She coiled aggressively, her neck moving into a characteristic s-shape of mingled excitement and agitation, “ _Oh-hoh? I will bite it. It will die and you will give me a delicious orbie._ ” She paused then, tongue flicking. “ _What is a Dumbass?_ ”

He smirked, “ _The male you can smell on me._ ”

She flicked her tongue thoughtfully, and then coiled herself up properly. “ _So you are not ready for eggs. A shame. It would have been interesting to see how Flatfaces make them. I think not. Strong males are hard to find. You will want him when you are ready for eggs._ ” He got the distinct impression she was giving him some manner of 'sly' snake-side-eye. How he knew this, he figured was just a part of being a Parselmouth, or it was him just finally going off the deep end, getting dating advice from a fucking snake. “ _Unless you have found a male you prefer, yes? There are many strong males here._ ”

“Oh my god,” he laughed helplessly, slapping a hand over his eyes as the serpent began to idly compare the smells of the people around him. Though ultimately she decided that even though they weren't _as_ strong as the others, they definitely smelt the best, he should choose the one whom she had been with before he came back. The one with the cool hands and the quieter voice.

Kimya. She was talking about Kimya.

“ _Th-that was a flatface egg-layer,_ ” he explained, fighting back laughter. “ _I am a young male. Too young for egg-making._ ”

“ _...Well I suppose you aren't completely useless. I shall have to teach you more than just how to bite I see._ ”

That was the scene Kimya walked in on, balancing a tray with two bowls of something hot and fragrant in one hand, Harry snickering into his hand while his little red and white tree viper slithered in circles on his chest, striking at the air, and then turning to hiss at him before striking again.

“Well, isn't she talkative tonight,” the huntress observed as she set the tray down. “What's she saying?” she asked as she kicked her boots off and got comfortable sitting on her bed, waiting for him to sit up, his bowl of rice and marinaded meat in hand.

“She's teaching me how to fight. Apparently I'm not completely useless, but I have a lot to learn,” he snickered as he carefully sat up, depositing Clem into his lap, and collected his bowl and the fork she handed him. He paused as he stuck it into his meal, looking up with wide eyes, “Uh...”

Kimya smiled secretively at him, “And I'd have t'agree with her,” she said lightly as she dug into her own food.

Harry stared at her for a moment, but all she did was hum appreciatively and comment on how delicious Weskham's cooking was and keep eating. So... he did as well. Hesitantly digging in. She was right. It was delicious, and he was hungrier than he thought he was, the entirety of the bowl vanished before he was even really aware of it and he was busy picking every last crumb of rice out making her laugh when she got a look at him.

“Want mine? I ate earlier,” she explained, showing off the half-finished bowl and... she nodded encouragingly and he needed no further invitation before he was digging in and practically _inhaling_ the left overs.

She waited until he was done before leaning over and pressing a kiss to his forehead, “Get some sleep, Catnip. We can talk in th'mornin' when yer feelin' a bit better. Okay?” she suggested, collecting his empty dishes and bustling out of the tent.

“How's he doin'?” he heard Clarus ask outside.

“Tired. But at least he ate sumthin',” Kimya answered with cheer as he heard her add their bowls to the collection.

“Oh, leave those. Cor will wash them later, _won't you?_ ” Weskham asked, stressing his voice disapprovingly. There was no answer but he heard Kimya sit down in one of the creaky second-hand camp chairs they bought earlier.

Harry got himself settled again, and Clem climbed her way back onto his chest.

He was asleep almost immediately, exhausted from all the physical and emotional whiplash of the day. He didn't even stir when, a few hours later after chattering and laughing with the Retinue, Kimya returned to their tent and got changed ready for bed herself. He slept solidly through the night, and even through the dawn as the sun blared through the tent wall and Kimya rose to get ready for the day.

He finally dragged himself out of bed somewhen around the ten-am mark when his bladder started actively threatening him. Clem had abandoned him somewhen in the night, and when he crawled out of his tent, slit-eyed without his glasses and rumpled, he nearly squashed her while she lay coiled up sunning herself and clearly playing guard-dog. He didn't even blink as he scooped her up, grunting absently at Weskham when the man looked up and greeted him from where he was organising his inventory again with a notebook. He hopped off the edge of the haven and found a good rock to empty his bladder behind before shuffling back, absently listening to Clem as she proudly told him about how she stopped the nasty smelling flatface from disturbing him.

He honestly didn't know who she meant and was honestly too tired to care as he made to go back into the tent.

“Harry? Can I talk to you for a moment?” Weskham asked seriously.

He looked longingly at his tent and dragged a hand through the tangled mane of bed-hair decorating his head before dropping into one of the camping chairs with an agreeing grunt and a yawn. He caught a brief flash of white teeth as the man smiled before moving to the cooker and removed a plate. Harry blinked down in dazed bewilderment as a cooked breakfast was shoved under his nose, still warm and smelling delicious. “Eat up, Harry,” the man encouraged, “I made it for you.”

He swayed a little over the plate before digging in, ravenous as much as he was exhausted.

“I wanted to thank you for your quick thinking yesterday,” the Retainer told him, not looking up as he continued his inventory. Harry grunted, muttering a 'don't worry about it' around his eggs without looking up. “No, I am afraid I must. If it were not for your warning, and the plan you came up with, Lestallum likely would have become a battlefield with a lot of innocent people caught in the middle. But I must also _apologise_ for forcing you into such circumstances.”

Harry grunted in askance, looking up in confusion and frowning at him – mouth full of anak sausage and beans.

Weskham smiled unhappily at him, “We have asked much of you since our meeting, and the events yesterday have only served to tell us in no uncertain terms that it has been _too_ much, perhaps.”

He swallowed with difficulty, “Uh, don't know where you're getting _that_ idea? It's been a bit crazy but – ” he shrugged a little helplessly, apart from the guns it was pretty similar to Hogwarts actually. Just another crazy chapter in his messed up life. Ah, but how to explain that without screwing himself over?

“Here he is!” Regis suddenly exclaimed behind them, slapping a hand down on Harry's back as he appeared, “The man of the hour!”

Pain shot up Harry's back like fire, and he dropped his plate with a bitten off yelp of pain as he bent forward, “W-watch the _bruises_!” he groaned between his knees.

“Bruises?” Regis asked in worry, and Harry felt his shirt being lifted, followed by a hiss of sympathetic pain. “Oh wow, you are black and _green_! Hold still, I'll fix you up good as new.” There was the sound of breaking glass, and his whole back went hot for a split second before cooling down and tingling pleasantly, the discomfort vanishing like someone had just wiped it off with a damp cloth.

Harry sighed in relief, “Thanks,” he sighed as he sat back up, and then eyed his breakfast mournfully. At least the plate wasn't broken, he decided as he picked it back up.

“Oh,” Regis said, realising what his boisterous greeting had caused, “My apologies, Harry. I did not realise – ” And there he went, getting all formal again.

The Gryffindor waved a hand as he got up, “It's fine. I ate plenty last night. S'not a big deal,” he assured the older man as he simultaneously rubbed one eye and put his plate on the side table.

Dumbass was lingering behind the Prince, looking miserable and watching him nervously from the corner of his eye. Harry stiffened a little, scowled, and crawled into his tent without another word.

Regis laughed a little nervously outside, and Harry heard a pair of boots moving away.

“Well that went well,” Weskham murmured quietly, obviously trying not to be overheard as Harry dragged out a change of clothes.

“It could very well have gone worse,” Regis muttered softly. “We have forced them into a very unpleasant situation, for civilians they have handled themselves with exemplary skill and composure. Enough so that we had _forgotten_ that they were not in fact trained Crownsguard.” He sighed mournfully and Harry heard one of the chairs creak. “Lady Auburnbrie requested that we not take Harry with us. I am inclined to agree with her.”

Weskham was silent for a time, and Harry could hear him shuffling papers and clinking bottles as he dragged his shirt off and made sure to rustle things audibly enough to that they didn't realise he was actually able to _hear_ them.

“Before today I would have protested that decision, your Highness,” Weskham admitted with a sigh. “Despite his age, young Harry has a very useful skillset. That we encountered him when we did seemed almost Astral given. Now though....” he sighed again.

“Now though,” Regis agreed in an undertone. “Neither of them have the protection of Insomnia. Once my journey is over, we may leave and consider it done. They must live with the aftermath of our actions here outside the Wall. It would not – it would be a disservice to them, either one of them, to request more than they have already given. Especially of Harry who is, as she reminded us, not a Lucian citizen.”

“No. By legal definition as a citizen of Ulwaat.... he is in fact of the Empire....” Weskham agreed softly.

Harry really needed to get a _World_ map and find out where this Ulwaat was and start researching. The more he knew, the less he could fuck up. And speaking of fuck ups, he decided, looking at the Iron Assault, he needed to get some stuff to make new ammo while he had the chance. He didn't particularly care to listen to a royal pity party right now. Lovely of them to think of the consequences _now_ , after they stuck their necks out against the Imperials. And what the fuck? No one ever cared about what happened to him before, why start now? He rolled his eyes. He would really rather not deal with this right now.

He strapped his glasses back on, yanked his boots up, laced them, belted his holsters into place, _left_ the cannon where it was – there was little point in carrying it until he actually got some ammo for it, and crawled out of the tent to where Regis and Weskham were sat in subdued silence, the former staring at the dead remnants of their campfire, and the latter scribbling in his notebook before grasping an object and vanishing it into his magic pocket.

Regis smiled at him, “Going somewhere?” he asked brightly. It was so natural that if Harry hadn't actually been privy to that conversation just now, he would have actually believed the good cheer was real.

He nodded, “Yeah. The new gun I got needs custom ammunition, I can make it myself, I just gotta get the bits.”

The Prince jumped to his feet, “May I help?” he asked eagerly, this time with a genuine light of interest in his eyes, _green_ eyes, similar to Harry's own but a more subdued colour.

He blinked, startled, “Uh, sure?” He looked at Weskham, “If that's allowed?”

Weskham snorted, “Despite what Clarus and Cid may insinuate, I am not, in fact, his Highness's mother. He may do as he pleases. Though I do trust you to keep him out of trouble.”

So much for not asking more of him.

Harry rolled his eyes, “Yes, because I, the fifteen year old, can keep the teleporting magical disaster from doing what he wants. Exactly,” he drawled, much to the amusement of the retainer as Regis yelped in offence.

“I am not a magical disaster!” he spluttered while Weskham laughed.

The Gryffindor dismissed them both, turning and jumping off the edge of the haven, waving to the distant figure of Kimya while she hovered with Cid up at her truck, the mechanic head down ass up in the engine while she stood next to him holding a tool-kit. She waved back as Regis caught up, waving over to where Harry could see Clarus at the fishing pier, the Shield lifted a hand in acknowledgement only to jump as if scolded when his line jerked with a bite. Dumbass was no where to be seen. _Not that Harry was fucking looking for him._

He tugged his instruction booklet out, flustered and scowling and determined to get this done and get the _fuck_ away from these people as quickly as possible. Right, he needed: Huskberries, Needleberries, Rumblefish? (he would ask Weskham about that), Velociprey fangs (blue raptors Dave described them as, they tended to run in packs in Duscae, their fangs were fairy easy to buy), Pintuna (another one for Weskham), small bone husks, Scatternuts, wyvern fangs (he would have to buy them or take a hunt up in Ravatogh if he recalled), burst arrowana (more fish?), Bomberry, Wyvern claw, scatterfish (how did fish factor into making ammo, seriously?), fire herb, flashbug (insects now?), ice crystal, dragonseed, _knife mackerel?_

“Seriously, what's with the fish?” he muttered as Regis peered over his shoulder at the list of ammunition and key ingredients needed for mixing them.

“A lot of fish are rich in heavy metals,” the Prince pointed out cheerfully, smiling at the sceptical look Harry shot him, “It's true. Depending on where you catch them, there are different concentrations depending on the environment. Not to mention they develop different defensive capabilities depending on the local predators. For instance, there's a lot of Sahagin and Seadevil's in the area. So we can probably find Arrowana and pintuna here. Pintuna puff up and their scales spike out, making them a very unpleasant mouthful for anything unwary trying to chomp down on them. The arrowana on the other hand is brightly coloured enough that only an idiot of a fiend would try for it because it _literally_ explodes when agitated enough.”

Harry's eyes widened as he stared at him. Regis nodded with a bright shit-eating grin.

“I bought a live one once when I was younger and hid it under Clarus' pillow. He likes to punch it before going to sleep to fluff it up,” the actual nine year old explained with a snicker.

The Gryffindor nodded slowly before sighing, “I don't know how to fish. Do you think it's possible to buy them?” he asked curiously.

“I'm sure someone sells them. But you probably won't find them easy. They're not exactly considered edible,” he admitted with a chuckle. “I could teach you, if you like?” he suggested brightly, and then his smile shaded into a smirk, “Or _Cor_ could.”

Harry coloured and glared at him before stomping off. The Prince laughed and slung an arm around his shoulder, “Aww, don't be like that. Bad enough he's clammed up worse than a nun in a red light district, don't you do it too,” he exclaimed as the Gryffindor stubbornly veered away from the water and headed into the trees. If he needed to kill Regis, at least this way there was little chance of his being seen by the others through the trees.

“See if you can't find any huskberries and needleberries,” Harry told him stiffly, “They seem to be the ones I'll need the most.”

The Prince nodded, “Sure.” The two separated a little bit and began to comb the undergrowth for the plants needed. Huskberries were luckily easy to find.

“Found some needleberries. I'm, uh, not sure how to pick them?” the Prince called over, crouched next to a rather cruel looking thorny bush next to a rock formation.

Harry peered at them carefully. They.... didn't look dissimilar to some of the plants he handled in Herbology in all honesty. “See these barbs here?” the Gryffindor explained, pointing before reaching in and then stroking his fingertips down and squeezing, “They only go a certain direction. Once you have a grip just twist and pull. Or if you've got gloves, you can just wear those,” he suggested dryly, giving the man a side-look.

“Ahh haha, yeah, right,” Regis chuckled, going a little pink and rubbing the back of his head. “Common sense, right.”

He smiled a little and shook his head in amusement, only to pause when he realised the Prince was blinking at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said with another smile, “Just – look, serious talk?” he asked, sitting back on his heels and reaching out for Harry's hands. Confused, he stupidly let the man take them. “I know my Retinue, Harry. I chose them to accompany me personally because I knew and trusted them. And while he has not breathed a single word of what occurred in Lestallum,” Regis smiled with kind patience at him, “I can easily guess what may have happened.”

Harry looked away, feeling his shoulders tense up again, and tried to tug his hands free. “I would _really_ rather not talk about this.”

Regis tightened his grip and rubbed a thumb across the back of his hand, “You are very young, Harry. Please listen to what small wisdom I have to share when I tell you that you should. I say this not to manipulate you, or even for my own entertainment, but simply because I have come to value you dearly as a friend, and I feel, one who has been left to flounder alone through his life without any guidance, be it cruel or kind. Please. It will go no further than the two of us, it will not be spoken of outside our confidence. You need not struggle with this alone.”

His hands jerked almost out of reflex but the Prince kept hold of him, continuing the gentle movements of his thumbs as Harry felt his heartrate kick up. He looked away, there was no one coming, no convenient fiends about to attack them, not even cars driving on the road twenty metres away and up the stone-wall.

“What – what if I don't want to?” he asked, his voice strangled.

Regis squeezed his hands together in his own much larger, much warmer ones, “Then.... As much as it would pain me, I would not ask for your confidence again. But Harry, please, this incident is causing both of you distress. And while Cor has many whom he can lean on, you have only Lady Auburnbrie, and as kind as I know she is. Learned in the difficulties young men face when fighting on the battlefield of their own emotions and growth, she is not. What happened, Harry?” he prompted gently, reaching out to smooth hair behind his ear, pausing when Harry physically flinched backwards in surprise, not having seen him coming in his peripheral, only felt burning fingertips brush his forehead. “Clarus said you seemed fine until he left the city.”

“Nothing,” Harry repeated like a broken record.

“Something did...”

“It wasn't a big deal – it was – we didn't – ” God, he felt queasy. “ – look, I don't even _know_ what happened. It was.... I don't.... _could you please let me go?_ ” he blurted, yanking his hands again, this time actually managing to flatten his thin fingers enough that his own clammy sweat made it easier for him to pull them free, not that he needed to. Regis let him go, and suddenly he could breathe again.

“Ah...” Regis said, as if confirming an unpleasant hypothesis.

“Ah _what_?” Harry demanded sharply, still startled to realise he was actually breathing hard. Almost as if he had been running.

“Touch. It unsettles you,” he pointed out and Harry grimaced.

“Well no shit sherlock. I said earlier I don't like people touching me!” he snapped harshly.

“And yet Lady Auburnbrie and even Cid garner no reaction at all,” he pointed out, and Harry paused even as he rubbed his sweating hands on his jeans with disgust. “What happened in Lestallum, Harry?”

“Nothing important, okay?!” he snarled, a hair away from punching the ground. He probably would have had it not been littered with needles from the plant they were trying to harvest.

“It is important to Cor.”

“I don't give a _shit_ about what's important to that Dumbass!” the Gryffindor snapped even as his stomach twisted sharply in on itself.

Regis only smirked, “And it is important to you. Otherwise I do not think you would be so distressed by it.”

Caught. Harry snarled in frustration, “Fine! We kissed, happy? It was the only fucking way to get the Imperials to fucking leave us alone!”

He nodded seriously, “I see. And why is this upsetting you?” he asked.

“I don'- it – it _isn't –_ I don't – I don't _care_ – ” he spluttered.

“Except you clearly do,” he pointed out reasonably, shifting a little to sit more comfortably, picking needles out of the knees of his trousers. Harry's face twisted and he lifted a hand stallingly, “I am not mocking you, Harry. I promise. But please, help me to understand why this has distressed you so.”

“No! No I don't – I _don't_ care about him!” he snapped, “I barely _know_ him! So _why_ was that different to – ” he cut himself off, going red and looking at Regis nervously.

Regis chuckled, “If you'll forgive me for saying as such, given your age, it may very well just be hormones. However, he is not that bad of a guy once you get to know him,” he explained gently, “Once you get past the....”

“Asshole?” Harry grumbled acidly.

It wasn't until the Prince snorted and started giggling like a first year that Harry _realised_ what he had just said and went painfully bright red.

“Oh fuck you!” he yelled, jumping to his feet and storming off.

“Heehee, oh Harry, no, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed!”

“Jump in the river, Regis! You giant fucking child!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please thank Reighost for the ending of this chapter -- it was giving me SO much trouble. God, I cannot romance, and serious conversations are OTL;;;


	13. Chapter 13

Harry ignored the Retinue as they made their plans, sat cross-legged outside his tent. They had managed to gather information on the possible location of three Royal Tombs in central Duscae, so now they were planning their route and what they were going to do. Apparently one of those tombs was at the feet of the Archean, and needed to be approached with care so that they didn't awaken the slumbering God.

Intimately familiar with Murphy's Law, Harry kept his goddamn mouth shut, his head down, and his hands busy on using the harvested items he and Regis collected earlier, and the Prince was kind enough to donate in an attempt to sooth his temper, to make himself more ammunition for the Iron Assault.

He and Kimya would be taking their hunts, and then trying their luck with the base at Schier Heights. Given how the Royal Guard had set up there, it was unlikely there would be daemons prowling around in Daurell Caverns, so it was probably the safest place for Kimya to teach him how to reinforce a door before they decided to tackle an actual daemon nest. The first hunt was a daemon one, so they were going to pack their things up before nightfall and make a push for the hunting ground before sunset, but that did give him ample time to get his ammunition fixed and sorted, grumbling about how he knew several of these would be more potent if given time to dry before he ground them up. Kimya just laughed at him.

The only problem he found was that once he got into the swing of handling the ingredients and packing them appropriately, it was mindless and menial enough that.... his thoughts began to wander down _annoying_ paths.

Talking with Regis had.... _had_ helped. Annoyingly. But he was never going to admit it to anyone except maybe Kimya. So what if Dumbass was good looking? Harry knew _plenty_ of good looking people, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Dean, Neville, Cho, the twins, Charlie, Bill, Fleur was practically a super-model, fuck, even _Malfoy_ could be considered good looking. Why then did Dumbass make him flustered? At a guess, because he was the first _guy_ he had ever been interested in in _that_ way. Much like how he got wound up over Cho before he got to know her, and without the.... without the _hormones_ punching him in the face as well.

Looking at it objectively, he knew Cho, he had admired her for years, faced her in Quidditch matches, _taught_ her in the DA; the night she cornered him under the mistletoe had been a good one, low stress, everyone had been enjoying themselves. Except for when she upset herself thinking about Cedric. Which was another thing, thinking about it. Cho, despite the kiss, despite how pretty he thought she was, had always been out of reach, _safe_ , because she was unobtainable. She had never been interested in him _for_ him. Only ever in what connection she could salvage of Cedric through him. Dumbass.... Dumbass _did not_ know about Hogwarts, about being the last Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Gryffindor Seeker. Dumbass was _not_ safe and unobtainable.

Then there was the kiss itself. That.... He scowled, flushing, as he stripped one of the Needleberries of its spines with a little more aggression that necessary. That was not like kissing Cho. Kissing Cho was.... _wet_ , admittedly, but it was not that.... there was less physical contact, it was.... he hated to say it, but it was definitely more _innocent_. If he remembered it accurately, it was literally just their lips, she _might_ have touched his hand before flinching back and apologising for jumping on him like that so suddenly, and wishing him a Happy Christmas before rushing away out to Ravenclaw Tower. Dumbass had been – _everywhere_. Completely overwhelming. His hands, his body, _his tongue_. It was too much, especially considering how it took _effort_ for him not to cringe when Hermione and Missus Weasley hugged him, when he flinched at Ron slinging an arm over his shoulder, at strangers moving too quickly in the corner of his eye, at men raising their –

Mother fucker.

He.... Realisation is a bitch, he decided as his hands stilled unhappily on the huskberry he was capping.

He had never really _considered_ the Dursleys treatment of him abuse. Gross neglect at worst. But – looking back, Dudley's casual violence, Aunt Petunia's calculated viciousness, Vernon's choking and grabbing and wrenching and slapping, and Aunt Marge's uncaring malicious cruelty..... If someone had ever set a dog on a child in front of him he would call it abuse and curse them to kingdom come. All that they had done was laugh, and stand back and _watch_ , like it was prime-time entertainment. Until he got up a tree where the dog couldn't reach him, and suddenly, it was no longer worth their time to watch now that the promise of blood was gone. They _left_ him up there.

Ugh, well, at least he had an explanation for _why_ people touching him overwhelmed and freaked him out. Until recently, touch had only ever been negative. And even then, despite what positive experiences he had with Ron and Hermione and Missus Weasley, Cho, Dave, and Kimya, they were vastly outweighed by Quirrel, Lockhart, Malfoy, Barty Crouch jr, Umbridge, Voldemort, _Dobby_.

So. All together, there were multiple reasons why he was so bent out of shape by that kiss, but ultimately it _really_ wasn't a big deal. He freaked out because he was overwhelmed by physical contact, because Dumbass was so aggressive, a guy on top of that, and Harry just didn't understand _why_.

Why him?

He hunched his shoulders and scowled down at his lap as he began to grind up sleep herbs in a mortar and pestle. Surely a guy like _that_ would not be short on admirers, so _why_ pay attention to _him?_ A dirty scrawny foul tempered homeless mess. Unless it was simply a case of no one else _being_ there? Last resort choice.

Despite the sting to his pride, the thought was a more comfortable one. An _understandable_ one.

How to get him to fuck off though?

How to get over his _own_ semi-kinda-crush on the ass?

He added more herbs to the pestle and smushed it into the paste thinking hard. His crush on Cho was as dead as the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, and all it took was..... actually getting closer to her, going on a date, getting to know her at her, admittedly, worst. He paused thoughtfully, staring down at the sticky pulp as it settled wetly in the bottom of the bowl. He.... could try that.... with Dumbass.

He glanced up at the group on the otherside of the Haven, and caught sight of the larger teenager watching him from over Weskham's shoulder. Dumbass twitched at getting caught, flushing, and quickly looked back down at what he was doing.

...Fuck that.

They were unlikely to see each other again, the Retinue would be continuing on their pilgrimage to visit the Tombs, he and Kimya would go and visit the doors to reinforce them and.... continue hunting? Wait for Sirius to come for him? Harry glanced over his shoulder to where she was at the river, dressed in trousers for the first time in his knowing her, washing the skirts she had been wearing the last few days. Would she come with him, if he offered her a place? It was probably unfair, entirely selfish, to bring her to the wizarding world when it was on the cusp of war, with all the Pureblood supremacy and her connection to him would put her in danger. But once Voldemort was dealt with she could live freely, there was no need to hide her magic, who she was. She could find happiness of her own, explore the very limits of her magic without having to worry about busy-body Gods taking exception to a natural human ability they couldn't control or bequeath at their whim.

What about Clementine?

The little snake was basking in her waterbowl beside him, chin resting on the lip of the container, her coils largely submerged. He couldn't take her with him. Forget invasive species, he didn't think she had the magic to survive the trip.

He shouldn't get attached to people, or things, not when he was just going to have to leave it all behind when Sirius came for him. Well, he could always give it to the Hunters when he was done, write something down and leave it at the nearest caravan stating that it was up for grabs if it hadn't been collected by such-and-such a date. They'd probably think he died but, eh, given how he would never be coming back he might as well let them believe it rather than know the truth.

He shook his head and carefully began to ration out the pulped herb into ammo casings.

If he did go out with Dumbass, at least if it went down in flames it wouldn't haunt him all the way back to Hogwarts.

Harry groaned in disgust and horror at himself, wrinkling his nose and shaking his head to try and dislodge the thought. He did not _need that right now THANK YOU._

“Everything alright there?” Clarus asked him with a bemused grin.

“My brain is a filthy traitor and I hate it,” Harry informed him darkly, explaining nothing and everything all at the same time as he roughly capped his new tranq shot ammo and gave them a shake to make sure the components were properly mixed.

There was a half-smile on Dumbass's face when his eyes slid past the cartridge, and he quickly looked away again when he realised Harry had caught him – _again_.

...How... often... did he watch him?

Harry began to arrange his ammo cartridges nervously. Was that why the others in the Retinue seemed so certain that he had a crush, because he watched him so much? Harry had only had these glasses recently, he could freely admit that he had probably _missed_ a lot of subtext, facial cues, subtle body language hints, etc. But, surely.... _Surely_ Ass Face hadn't been _that_ obvious.... right?

Did it matter if he had been?

He dragged a hand through his hair in frustration as he stared down at his collective cartridges and reached for the magazine cases that Rudolph had included with the Iron Assault, locked into it in various places for ease of removal and re-equipping. It took actually reading the instructions for Harry to notice them. He began to thumb the finished cartridges into their magazines, stubbornly telling himself that it _didn't_ fucking matter if he had been obvious or not, what few times he had chosen to interact with Harry he had been on level with Draco Malfoy – unless.... _Harry_ had been the one who screwed up by not actually _seeing_ whatever social cue had been on his face?

His hands stilled for a moment as he stared blindly down at the magazines.

He... knew he was a bit thick when it came to people. All three of them were to a degree, but in different ways, though Hermione was becoming more emotionally savvy as she got older and grew more confident talking to people instead of hiding behind books. Ron could read people pretty well when he thought to, or at least he had always been good at reading _Harry_. And Harry, he had always been good with the nastier aspects of human emotion, motivation, and drive. So.... had he been thick and missed something, and now there was this.... fucking _mess_ between them that he had been too blind to see and was tripping up on?

He glanced up, spotting Ass Face as he pointed down at the map the Retinue had laid out in front of them and murmured something too quiet for him to hear at this distance, tracing a line down the page to a different location before making a short gesture that Harry remembered seeing in some of Dudley's favourite action movies, some kind of military sign language. He wasn't wound up, his face was relaxed, almost soft. He didn't smile, but he wasn't frowning either. His body was open and a little slouched, not drawn up like someone had wound up some kind of spring in his back that pulled on all his limbs.

Harry looked back down and continued loading his magazine.

Didn't matter.

They would be moving on soon and unlikely to ever meet again save potentially in passing.

How many fucking Royal Graves could there be? Given how Lucis had been at war for roughly four-hundred years, Harry was willing to bet many of those graves were actually in Insomnia.

They decided to make a move at four. Kimya handed out hugs liberally to the entire Retinue, and in order to forestall any attempts to hug him as well, Harry offered handshakes instead – both he _and_ Ass Face avoided each other, and caught them watching each other from the corner of their eyes as well. When told they planned to head to Schier Heights, Regis cheerfully informed them that they were free to say he gave them his permission in order to actually get the access they needed.

And then they were gone.

Harry watched their tiny figures walking back to the haven as they turned the corner and went over the bridge. Watched as Clarus slung his arm over Ass Face's shoulder and ruffled his hair as he lead him back to the haven.

He turned and looked out of the other window.

 

* * *

 

One band of eleven Ereshkigal slapped and shot out of existence, followed by a pesky pair of mindflayers that Harry took great pleasure in jamming a quicksilver loaded with lumos into the tentacle-y gob of until its head burst like a pressurised glowstick, and the two of them crossed the bridge heading west to pass the night at Dainse haven, before heading directly for Schier Heights in the morning.

They stopped off Taelpar Rest Area to cash in their completed marks, and received an urgent one about an Elder Coeurl that had _literally_ moved into their back-garden. They were the first Hunters that had visited the area in a week and there had already been three incidents where it tried to snatch unwary visitors and even get into houses. They needed it dealt with ASAP.

So, the two got their heavier equipment and armour loaded up and ready, and they headed out.

“What do you know of Elder Coeurls?” Harry asked as they followed the path into a very narrow passage. “I know they're essentially giant leopards....”

“Catnip, I don't have th'foggiest a'what one of those is. But we're lookin' fer a big white cat, 'bout as tall as th'truck's flatbed, 'bout as _long_ as th'flatbed too. With two long whiskers on it's snout an' – there it is,” she said, pointing down the path where the massive majestic feline was prowling menacingly towards them. She shifted backwards, and lowered herself into a stance. “Those whisker'll light up when its about ter use its lightnin'. Don't get caught or it'll be crispy Catnip fer its dinner.”

Harry sighed, about to reply with something witty only to yelp and open fire the second the beast leaped at them.

Then there wasn't an awful lot of time for witty one liners.

In hindsight, he decided ten minutes later, pinned against the cliff-face, claws scrabbling against the rock on either side of him, the only thing preventing bone crushing white jaws from sinking into him being the fact that the Iron Assault was jammed firmly between its teeth, bringing a weapon he _still_ wasn't a hundred percent familiar with on an Urgent highly ranked hunt was not his smartest decision. But. He grinned ferally, unlocking the charge-limiter, and slamming a single cartridge into the gun, flinching and twisting his head to the side when a claw came too close to his head. No one ever said he didn't come up with a back up plan.

The cannon began to glow and sizzle and the Elder Coeurl had perhaps a second to realise its fur was smoking and try to get away before the cannon _exploded_.

The Coeurl _screamed_ , and Harry yelled a split second later when, as it flailed in its death-throws, a claw caught his face. He turned quickly enough to escape the worst of it, but he felt the skin break, hot blood itch down his skin as the beast writhed across the dirt path until it finally gave out, and fell still, ruined throat wet, open, charred and gushing all at once.

Harry flinched his right eye shut as blood threatened to dribble into it, his forehead and cheek stinging like a _bitch_ as he waited for his heart-rate to calm the fuck down and the Coeurl to rattle its last breath out. As soon as all was silent, he was on his feet, and bolting for Kimya, the Iron Assault left behind to cool from the Wyvern's Fire Charge he just unloaded into the beast.

The woman wasn't moving, she had been thrown into the stone wall _hard_ during the fight. She had probably hit her head, which would explain why she was unconscious.

He sighed through his nose and then carefully began to manoeuvre her upright, and then hauled on her arms to get them over his shoulders so he could get a grip on her thighs and drag her into a piggyback position. He would come back for the Coeurl and the Iron Assault once she was squared away at the motel, and someone was taking a look at her head.

The Missus at the motel was so grateful for their taking care of the Coeurl that had been menacing her guests, she let them have a room for free, and even looked after Kimya herself while he slapped some patches and tape over his injuries quickly, just to keep the blood out of his eyes, and then went back out to collect his weapon and spoils. The hide of that thing had been thick, tough, and _beautiful_. Harry wanted himself a leopard fur coat. And he was sure Kimya wouldn't be opposed to one herself. He dragged the whole thing back to the rest stop, and paid the tipster at the diner to render it down for meat, offering him half if he taught Harry how to do the same and preserve it properly for later. The man promised to do just that – but only after Harry had someone fix his face up. Bleeding on food that was going to be sold was unhygienic and he wasn't going to be having it in his kitchen.

Which lead to Harry in the Kenny Crow toilets trying to clean his injuries up with a cloth, ointment, hot water, and surgical tape. He should.... probably get stitches. Superglue would have to do for now though, he decided, calling out of the bathroom to see if the tipster had any – thankfully he did and was willing to share, and even glue the injuries down for Harry himself.

Face no longer leaking, Harry washed his hands, changed his shirt, and went back to work, learning how to skin and render the fiend for good meat and fur, even how to preserve both until he could get to a tanner who would treat the skin properly. Lucky for Harry there was one actually in town. They saw a lot of Hunter movement usually, and a few had even retired in the area, setting up a few professional businesses to support their brothers and sisters.

Which was in fact his next stop once the lesson in meat-preservation was finished, the cuts Harry had for himself were packed away in an appropriate cool box he quickly went and purchased from the hardware store, and his payment for the hunt was obtained.

“Pleasure workin' with ya, hunter,” the tipster declared with a grin and a tip of his non-existent hat, “I look forward to yer continued patronage.”

Harry grinned, waving himself as he hauled his box and his fur outside to the truck. He stored the food in the back, and took the fur to the tanner who set about getting it cleaned, fixed up, and trimmed properly. He wasn't a seamstress, or any kind of tailor, if Harry wanted anything more than cleaned and prepped, he would need to head to Lestallum or do it himself.

He paid the man for his work and was told to come back tomorrow when it was finished, before heading back to the motel. He rearranged everything in the back of the truck, collected Clem from her toilet-roll on the dashboard where she had decided to curl up after sunning herself for most of the afternoon, before heading to their room. The Missus had gotten Kimya changed into a nightdress and comfortable in bed. She had woken up briefly to ask where he was, and the woman had been able to get her to drink some water and swallow some painkillers and anti-inflammatories, but she fell back asleep again pretty quickly. Harry thanked her, tipped generously, and flopped onto the recently vacated chair to wait for her to wake.

He ended up falling asleep instead, and waking up with an awful neck ache, but it was the thought that counted.

Thankfully, whatever was wrong with Kimya, and he was assuming it was only a very _very_ mild concussion, had sorted itself out by the next day. Just to make sure she even used her own magic on her head, washing her hair with her special herb water for Harry's own peace of mind. She offered to do the same for his face but he just shrugged, it was a little late for her to prevent any scarring after a full twenty-four hours or so, let it heal naturally, besides, the tipster had already seen it. If he started swanning around with it healed it would raise suspicions which neither of them particularly needed.

They got washed and ate their breakfast before hiking up to the base atop Schier Heights. It.... took pretty much all morning. They should have taken the truck Harry decided grumpily as he and Kimya trudged up the steep hills towards the gargantuan arches.

He would have probably been an awful lot more impressed if it weren't so _hot_ or _humid_. He was sweating and it was making his scratches _**itch**_ something fierce. Not only that, but there were bugs. Actual bugs, not the kind he could shoot. Mosquitoes. _Thousands_ of mosquitoes – and it felt like they were all fucking gunning for him if the rate he was swatting them off of his body was any indication.

They avoided Kimya like the bloody plague, the fucking _witch_.

She just smirked at him, “Garlic,” she told him cheerfully as she overtook him on the dirt path.

They were both sweaty, red, and eaten alive by the time they reached the base gates, finding the metal chainlink and following it around until they got there. The soldiers wore familiar looking uniforms, not too dissimilar to Ass Face's, and once the two explained who they were, why they were there, and who sent them, the guards radio'ed in to the CO who had them set up in a tiny break-room next to the motor-depot where the mechanics working on transports would have their break.

It took two hours before the man showed up, which suited them fine, Kimya was able to do something about their insect bites, and the two of them got to rest sprawled out across the chairs with cups of _cold_ blessedly _cold_ filtered water in their hands. So they didn't make _as_ pitiful a picture as they had when showing up at the gate.

The Commanding Officer of Schier Heights was an older gentleman who looked like he could have been Weskham's father, or Uncle, but had none of the Retainer's neat manners or gentle demeanour. He was hard faced, sharp eyed, and intensely attentive as the two once again explained who they were, and the story behind why they were on his doorstep as well as Regis' verbal request for them to have that access. Harry added in that if he had the men to spare, they were free to come with and make sure that neither of them did anything untoward beyond what they were there for.

He informed them that he would have to pass their request further up the chain of command, ultimately he believed them, however, he was also responsible for the lives of all the men and women in Schier Heights. He could not allow two unknowns to wander the undergrounds of this base, even with an escort, without permission from on high, especially not now that the Empire had finally breached Lucian mainland. It would likely take a day, maybe two, if he was lucky, to get them an answer from Insomnia. He apologised for taking so long in getting to them as now it meant they would not be able to return to Taelpar Rest Stop before nightfall, and offered them the use of the break-room to spend the night.

Kimya shook her head, “Tha's very kind a'ya, sir, but I wouldn't intrude upon yer hospitality. An' I'm sure yer men would like their coffee machine back. Catnip an' I can handle any daemon what crawls outta th'darkness,” she bragged proudly, smiling over at him as he chugged the last of his water and got to his feet, before looking at the CO with a thin smile. “If ya need decent daemon repellin' weapons, contact th'Hunters HQ up in Meldacio. They should still have a surplus.”

He got to his feet, standing stiffly in a way that made Harry blink as he recognised it, that was how Ass Face stood, “Understood, ma'am. Thank you for your time, and your advice. I'll keep it in mind. I'll send someone down to Taelpar Rest Stop once I have your answer,” he told her crisply before nodding to them both and gesturing to the soldier at the door, “Ackers will show you out. If you'll excuse me,” he said before marching out of the room.

It was probably poor form, but, Harry filled his canteen from their water cooler before he left. It was a long walk and it was _hot_. Ackers seemed to find it amusing or at least understandable if the short huff of a grin he gave at the action was any indication.

“Are you sure you want to make the walk, ma'am?” he asked as they reached the gate, looking doubtfully up at the sky, “It takes four hours to walk down, and sunset is in two.”

Kimya patted his arm, “We're professionals,” she assured him and then made a show of adjusting her gloves. “We'll be fine. Thank y'all fer the concern. It _is_ appreciated. It's reassurin' t'know th'soldiers what protect our borders care about folk,” she told them all honestly with a smile before smiling and making her way down the path.

Harry offered them a brief smile, “Fingers crossed we'll see you again soon,” he added before chasing after her.

Ackers was indeed correct, they did not get to Taelpar before sundown, however, they did get to Taelpar, so it didn't really matter. Except to Clementine who was furious at having been left behind and told him in no uncertain terms that she would be coming with him next time what if he encountered something that she needed to kill for him? He did not even know how to _bite_ properly!

The next day they learned why no hunters had come by in a while.

“ _Attacked?!_ ” Kimya gaped at the young hunter in the Crow's Nest.

He nodded, practically inhaling his three piece meal, “Rolled in ter Meldacio at first light. At first we thought they was lookin' fer th'Prince,” he admitted through a mouthful of food before snatching his drink up and chugging it in one go, slamming it down on the counter, _belching_ , and then turning back to them even as Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust – Kimya didn't even _blink_. “But they was lookin' fer _you_.”

Kimya sat down, her hands shaking, “Me? What on Eos for?” she asked weakly even as Harry's hand latched onto her shoulder, tight enough to bruise as his stomach flipped and curled, hot and cold all at once.

The hunter shook his head, “No clue. Yer sister told them ya got yer fool self banished, and she's washed her hands'a ya. Doesn't know where you're goin', what yer plan is, nothin'.”

She inhaled shakily, bowing her head as she reached up and gripped Harry's fingers tightly. “Was anyone hurt?” she asked fearfully.

“Naw,” the hunter assured her, turning back to his meal and gesturing at the tipster for another drink. “Madam Auburnbrie let 'em turn over every single stone in the town, even gave 'em instructions on how t'find Steyliff in case you went there. They stuck around fer a day, overnight actually, t'see if you'd turn up like a bad gil but then they all fucked off again.”

“When was this?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Day after y'all left,” the hunter stated as he yanked the cap off his fresh drink and drained that in one as well. That meant the Imperials left the very same day that Lestallum was invaded – it very well may have been the same group of men. Had.... had they been looking for Kimya as well? Had his plan very nearly handed them not _only_ the woman they were looking for but also the Prince of this country in one fell swoop?

They got so lucky, and that was unacceptable. Luck ran out. Luck went bad. They needed to be _better_.

Not only that, but the fact that Ezma had banished her sister the _day_ before they got to Meldacio looking for her?

“Astrals were smilin' on you two, _that's_ fer sure,” the hunter grunted around his salmon without looking up.

“Yeah. Yeah they were,” Kimya agreed faintly before getting to her feet and tottering back to the motel.

“Hey kid,” the hunter grunted when Harry got up to follow her, “I know it's a bit much t'ask, but keep 'er safe?” he requested, jerking his chin in Kimya's direction, “She's th'reason I ain't just another tag, and I can afford t'keep my ma comfortable in her old age. If the Imperials are lookin' fer her, it'll be because of her magic. They don't know about you, Ezma kept that one quiet. So they'll be lookin' fer a woman travellin' alone. Don't leave 'er side.”

He nodded, “I won't. I – ”

The hunter grimaced, “Don't make promises, kid, we all know you were waitin' on family t'take ya home. Just do what ya can, fer as long as ya can.”

Harry nodded slowly, he was definitely going to have to talk to Kimya about potentially coming back to England with him. He didn't want to think about what Niflheim would do to a _Lucian_ magic user that wasn't usable as a bargaining chip or a hostage. He really didn't.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people have been commenting on people ignoring Harry's boundaries regarding his touch aversion - welcome to my life. 
> 
> Hi, yes, I have touch aversion as well, I am also horrifically and heinously touch starved as well because of this. I won't get into my personal history, I don't care to, and I don't have to, a lot of experiences in this fic are actually first hand ones, which some people have already identified because hey, they recognise the song of their people. 
> 
> But it's true the world doesn't treat people with touch aversion nicely, or fairly. They DON'T respect our boundaries. And it's even worse when you're young. It took reaching twenty five years of age for anyone to actually take me seriously when I would tell them I just don't like being touched. Human beings are tactile, they are. When you see someone you care about upset, or distressed, you NEED to touch them, a hand on the shoulder, lean into their side, hug them, kiss them, it doesn't matter, you have that visceral need to try and comfort them. Did you know human babies will literally die without physical human touch and comfort? They can be perfectly fed, burped, changed, clean, and stimulated with toys and shit, but without physical contact from another living breathing person, they will die. 
> 
> It's literally built into us, the need for and to touch. And unfortunately, given culture and society at this moment in time, people will just assume that 'no touch' is for strangers, or people you dislike, or when you're not feeling well, or to keep creepy guys away, or x, or y, or z, or any other myriad reason. Because they need a reason to understand why the boundary is there because it goes so far out of our culture but also our biological needs. 
> 
> So yes, Harry's boundaries are being dismissed. That is on purpose. Not maliciously, but simply because - they don't think it applies to them. Because they're friends and they genuinely care, and they want to help.


	14. Chapter 14

Kimya was out of sorts for the rest of the day, muttering to herself every now and again, occasionally pacing their room. Harry took some time to go out and gather some more ingredients for his ammo, and contemplated what he wanted to do with his Coeurl hide. He also ended up going on a hunt with the hunter that spoke to them in the Crow's Nest, guy by the name of Jim Melmond who preferred the use of heavy broadswords like Clarus – but didn't have the added benefit of Insomnian technology or alloys that allowed it to be superlight and perfectly sharp and balanced at all times.

It was interesting hunting with someone that wasn't Kimya. Very different because Melmond was nowhere near as fast as she was, but he had a wealth of experience in combat that, as much as he loved her, Kimya just didn't have. They dealt with their hunts pretty quickly, and returned to gain their spoils. They split the gil evenly and Harry let Melmond keep the items, it wasn't like he needed any _more_ Mega Phoenix – he could literally stuff a pillow with the number of them he currently had taking up space in his backpack.

Harry got more gil and meat by bringing one of the smaller Dualhorn carcasses that they hunted for the tipster, and he took the skin to be treated as well – he wasn't brilliant at sewing, but he figured he could make some decent enough pouches to go on his belt, or maybe some kind of satchel he could wear. He couldn't always take his backpack, it carried literally everything he owned and it was heavy besides. Taking it on a hunt was stupid and dangerous as well, thinking about it.

Dinner was a quiet affair, Kimya eventually explained that.... her banishment wasn't what it appeared, and she was sorry for dragging him away from Meldacio, she should have _said_ something –

Ezma knew that eventually, when the Niffs reached the mainland, they would come for Kimya sooner rather than later. As far as anyone knew, the Auburnbries' were from a brother-line of the Oracles, a young man of the Lucis Fleurets' found love on the battlefield and sired a bastard line before his untimely death. Their blood was too watered down for the full host of Oracle abilities, but it was widely believed that their magic was of the Oracle line, and the Auburnbries' allowed them to continue thinking it because it kept them _safe_. Daemons were attracted to magic, they would specifically target those with it, by allowing people to believe they were connected to the Oracle, the Auburnbries' received greater protection. By tying themselves to the abandoned Crownsguard that were left outside the Wall and eventually formed the Hunters, they were further protected and no one thought to question it further.

“So, what? She banished you for your own _protection_?” Harry scoffed, frowning at her incredulously over his sandwiches.

She nodded miserably, “Well, not just 'cause'a that, but.... yeah. Ezma... Ezma _always_ knew I snuck outta Meldacio, it's never been a big deal, Oaths or not. She always thought they was stupid anyway,” she admitted with distant humour, “But then I had t'fix th'door.”

Harry's eyes slid shut in realisation, “And if Steyliff needed shoring up, then the others might as well.” Kimya nodded in miserably silence. “Why didn't she just _say_ that?!” he burst, staring at her in disbelief, “Why all the drama, the shouting, the heartbreak?”

The older woman shook her head, “I couldn't say fer sure, but, knowin' what I do now... probably to sell th'banishment t'anyone what asked. If we leave on bad terms, she ain't gunna know where I'm goin', or what I'm doin', an' it means I ain't anywhere they can find me easily.” She sighed deeply and pressed a hand to her forehead, “I'm such a fool. I thought – I knew she wanted me t'fix th'doors. Especially with some'a'th'things she said but.... I never thought the _Empire_ would'a.... This is why Da left _her_ in charge'a th'Hunters instead'a our brother, she always had a better head fer plannin' than the rest'a us. Fer leadin'.”

“You had a brother?” Harry asked, this was the first he'd heard of it.

Kimya grunted, “Fool boy went an' got himself killed on a hunt he should'a never taken. This was before they made th'rankin' system. A hunter had t'be aware'a his limits. He always thought he was a bigger man than he was,” she admitted dismissively, “And he was an utter _toad_.” Wow, okay, apparently there was no love lost there.

“What happens when you've finished with the doors? She'll just.... rescind your banishment?” he asked disbelievingly.

She laughed outright at that, “I wouldn't go back even if they _paid_ me!” She snorted and had to wipe her eyes, “Harry, th'day I left with you was th'first day I'd ever left Meldacio, left _Vesper_. I got t'see th' _Disc a' Cauthess_ , I got t'walk th'streets'a Lestallum and visit th'markets.” Her smile was sad, and wistful all at the same time. “I got t'walk beneath th'arches'a Duscae, and cross Taelpar Crag, it _was_ dark an' I couldn't see th'arches in the canyon, but I can see them _later_. Because _I want to_. I don't – I don't have t'mix herbs an' medicines until I'm scared my hands are gunna be permanently _stained_. I don't have t'bless weapons until my voice cracks an' fails an' I can't _talk_ for th'rest a'th'day.”

She laughed, “D-day before yesterday, we fought an _Elder Coeurl_! I've only ever seen drawin's, writs fer them, pictures in books. An' we fought one. Tomorrow? Tomorrow we might be allowed t'explore a cave! Who knows what we'll find in there? Th'day after?” She leaned forward in her seat, her eyes bright, “Who knows what we'll do, what we'll see. But fer th'first time in my life.... I'm actually _livin'_ my life. They'll have t'drag me back t'Meldacio in a _sack_.”

Harry smiled at her determination, “I don't know anything about Lucis. We'll have to explore it together. Where would you recommend?” he asked.

She laughed, “I have no idea! Let's see all of it.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning Harry got his treated leathers, and a soldier from the base arrived.

They were not allowed into the caverns. There was no evidence of a door being discovered by any of the exploration or mining teams, so until such a time, their access was to be barred. Apologies. They would of course keep an eye out for anything matching the description of said door, and pass word through the tipster network for them to return.

Kimya sighed as the soldier left, picking up his shipment of food and supplies from the Kenny Crow and driving off back to Schier Heights. “There went that plan,” she complained rubbing her forehead. “Looks like yer gunna get a trial by fire then.”

“Story of my life,” Harry admitted dryly as he shifted a bit closer.

She snorted a little in amused agreement and pulled out their map, “Costlemark is the closest door, but we are _not_ going there,” she declared firmly, “Too dangerous. We'll hire a team'a hunters t'be our escorts before we try t'tackle _that_ monstrosity. Fociaugh is the closest besides that. Eye a'th'Fulgurian. There might be less daemons there, or at least _weaker_ ones. Most ain't willin' t'get too close t'th'restin' places'a th'Astrals.”

“Well, there's a haven not too far from it. Is it like Steyliff and only opens at night?” he asked curiously, as he pointed to a small marking on the map – the hunter that left it behind was well travelled and made a point of highlighting every haven s/he/ey had been to.

Kimya shook her head, “I don't rightly know. Still. No point in lollygaggin' 'round here now we have our answer. I'll go settle up with th'owner, you get everythin' int'a th'truck,” she declared getting to her feet.

The two got themselves sorted and were back on the road in less than ten minutes, Kimya taking a moment to turn the radio on, gleefully telling him that Ezma absolutely hated it when she turned it on – said she could never think with all that racket playing. To Harry, who grew up with what _Dudley_ considered music, and what Aunt Petunia would play whenever she got it into her head to go a complete cleaning blitz of the house, the swelling dramatic orchestral music playing over the radio was the perfect stuff to go out and fight to. He had honestly never been much of a music fan, but this was _awesome_.

They turned North, and then east once more, following the road around the outside of the Disc of Cauthess, giving the two an _incredible_ view as they drove, heading up towards Fociaugh and the Nebulawood. If they didn't find the door in Fociaugh then they would go and investigate the wood, but supposedly there was a Lucian base hidden in there, so Kimya was a bit uncertain of their welcome.

They parked up beside the road next to the path that would take them to the Hollow, and decided to try their luck. If it was closed, they would head to the near-by Killiam haven to wait for nightfall, and set up their camp.Clementine _loudly_ reminding Harry that he wasn't allowed to leave without her. He sighed and tucked her into his shirt's breast pocket, buttoning it so she was less likely to fall out, and so she could stay warm. He wondered if she had any idea what a cave actually was, or how cold it could be.

To their surprise, despite the unique stone structure, Fociaugh Hollow was in fact _just_ a cave.

They were able to enter and leave at their discretion.

They readied their weapons, Kimya tied her hair back, and Harry adjusted his glasses strap and ammo-belt.

Distantly, somewhere in the back of his mind, recalling all the bitter complaining of Dudley and his friends in the living room as they had horror-movie marathon sleep-overs during the summer, he wondered what it said about them that they would willingly walk into a dark cave, only a few hours before sunset, _knowing_ it was full of monsters.

The two of them marched in through the strangely square cave entrance, ears sharp and attentive to the sound of anything moving up ahead as they moved down, down, _down_ , and came out into a large open, diamond shaped chamber. Empty. Save for themselves, and a large number of rocks with steep drops that he could see many an unwary individual falling from if a fight were to break out. The two of them fanned out, hugging the wall, looking for off shoots, but no, there were no other paths out of the chamber save the one they came from, and the opening directly opposite that lead to.... a very narrow passage, that echoed with the unmistakable sound of daemons just beyond. Clem tasted the air and told him there was probably six of them. Snakes could count. Who knew.

The two exchanged looks, and Harry unslung the Assault cannon, handing it to Kimya before drawing one of his quicksilvers and sliding into the opening first. He wouldn't be able to get through with the cannon, and if there were daemons on the other side it would be too dangerous for him to try wrestling with it in tight confines. So he would go in, hold a defensive line so that Kimya could follow while manoeuvring the cannon with her.

Daemons dealt with, Harry slung the Iron Assault back over his shoulders, a little perturbed. These daemons moved a lot like the skeletons of Steyliff, but were..... much less tough. One lumos bullet was enough to pop them entirely. No problem. They were also a lot slower, and much less aware of the goings on around them. Harry literally came out of the tiny gap directly behind one of them, close enough that he was forced to actually _kick_ it to get it out from what was practically between his legs.

They continued on down the path, having to crawl at one point, and found themselves in a small chamber with running water, and a small patch of grass adorned with flowers, practically glowing in the hot fading sunset.

“Allural shallots,” Kimya concluded as she knelt beside the flowers, and then sank her fingers into the earth, digging them up. “They make for good eatin',” she told him cheerfully, “Go fill your water from the river. These won't grow where there's stagnant water,” she promised as she unearthed the first cluster of bulbs and cheerfully brushed off all the dirt before tucking them into her pockets.

The two continued on their trek, dealing with imps and hobgoblins and thunder bombs easily and casually, Harry marking their way with a stick of white chalk so they could easily find their way back out again if they had to do it at speed.

“Did I ever teach you how to draw from Elemancy points?” she asked as they came to several glowing shards of fire crystal. Harry shook his head, and Kimya smiled.

It probably wasn't the best place to learn, but given how _weak_ the daemons in this particular nest were, it did no harm for them to stop long enough for Kimya to teach him how to draw on the energy. She tried to teach him how to funnel it into a magic flask but – he couldn't really direct it. Once he had established that connection and reached out for the power hidden in the shards, it flowed into _him_ without the chance for redirection. Filling and settling into his core like he had just drunk a mug of hot chocolate.

“Well now,” the witch said, quite at a loss, and then gently tucked away her single magic flask. “Think ya can _use_ it?” she asked curiously.

Harry hummed thoughtfully as he carefully prodded the magic settled into the core of himself, tried to pull it towards his hand. It moved, but.... “Not right now, no. I'll need to practice,” he admitted, feeling the magic trying to push through where he wanted like honey on a cold day. Clem certainly approved, hissing about how he felt so much warmer now, he would have to do that again.

The two continued on, Harry collected from the ice point and squirmed uncomfortably at the weird feeling of the conflicting magics settling next to each other inside of him. Like drinking ice cold water on an over hot day, while at the same time drinking hot chocolate on a bitterly cold winter day. Such a _weird_ feeling. Then they reached a _huge_ chamber, only barely visible through the broken roof allowing shafts of dying light to fall through and bounce off the crystal clear water below, lighting paths up ahead, and daemons dancing through the shadows as the light died, and the night wore on.

They followed the path around the giant chamber, felling daemons left and right, until they reached a fork in the road, three paths in front of them.

Harry marked the path back, and Kimya opted to take the path to the far right. It lead them all the way around to a dead end, and a blue choker.

The woman held it up thoughtfully before turning to him, “Turn around,” she said, gesturing with a finger.

Harry eyed it dubiously, “I don't think it's my colour,” he quipped with humour. “No thanks.”

She looked down at the item, “Are ya sure? These chokers work real good at speeding up yer personal ability t'heal. Bruises'll vanish in hours instead'a days,” she explained slowly. “An' with how ya keep gettin' hurt, it'd be mighty reassurin' t'know ya have at least _sumthin'_ t'help keep ya on yer feet.”

He didn't particularly want to unpack his aversion to having things around his neck, but at the same time, something to speed up his own recovery speed would be useful. And he had never actually _worn_ a choker before. He slid the silver bangle off, and turned around to let Kimya fasten the choker around his neck, fighting not to flinch as her fingers touched the back of his neck. He honestly didn't know how it would feel to wear but... it just felt like he'd done the top-button of his school shirt up and put his tie on a little tight. It didn't restrict his breathing and in all honesty, it was snug but he could feel the fabric stretching as he swallowed against it and tested it by flexing his neck muscles.

The only downside he could say now was that the scratches on his face had started to itch something fierce.

She laughed when she saw him pull the dressings off to pick at the scabs. “Stop that, or ya'll make it worse,” she scolded, slapping his fingers.

“Yeah, but it's _itchy_ now,” he complained plaintively, following meekly after her as they returned to the large chamber and went into the little cave, after putting a large 'X' on the dead-end path.

All they found on that path was an ice cold bath and a bunch of _asshole_ daemons dropping down from the ceiling – which was how Harry ended up throwing himself off the path and directly into icy cold water when one of them almost _landed_ on him with its scything little claws. Kimya managed to dispatch them all with quick brutality before Harry managed to twist around and get himself the right way around in order to crawl back out – he had fallen backwards into the water, and the Iron Assault was _heavy_.

So it was a very wet, cold, and unhappy Harry and Clementine slopping after the giggling huntress as they left the dead end, scratching another cross on that path and heading to the final one on the left, ducking down and crawling under the overhang to reach another, large pitch black chamber. The tribe of hobgoblins that occupied it never stood a chance.

“We go left this time,” he grumped, pointing, “I can feel more magic in that direction.”

Kimya giggled, and the two set off towards the left, Harry slopping after her, wringing out his clothing as he went, grumbling under his breath as he shoved messy water logged hair out of his face.

The chamber they found though, was not the door they expected.

“Oh,” Kimya gasped as they stepped out into a narrow corridor, a single shaft of light from the broken ceiling revealing a small natural spring lined with greenery and life, a single twisted white tree illuminated from above. She stepped forward and then dropped to her knees.

“Err,” Harry glanced around them, he.... this didn't _seem_ like the kind of place one should pray. It was just a tree?

Kimya quickly gestured at him to come over and kneel as well. Well, she had never lead him wrong yet, so, awkwardly, he did as he was told. Still dripping. And sat beside her.

“It is said, after th'fall'a Solheim, th'Astrals went int'a slumber,” Kimya explained in hushed tones even as she rummaged in her pockets and then proceeded to push the shallots she recently collected into the water. “Th'Archean beneath th'meteor he caught. Th'Hydrean int'a th'Ocean, int'a th'lagoon she held most precious. Th'Glacian int'a a rift in Niflheim. Th'Infernian's corpse upon th'Ravatogh. And here.... th'Fulgurian, within th'Spring'a Fociaugh, at th'tree a Judgement.”

Harry glanced up at it.

Well.

“If the guy is sleeping, then let's not disturb him,” Harry said solemnly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Especially not by a couple of tourists before he's good and ready to wake up himself.”

She nodded slowly, but with her head still bowed, and her hands clasped, it was clear that she wasn't going to move until she'd finished praying. So Harry left her to it, and studied the little tree instead. Sensing it with magic, he could definitely see how maybe non-magically inclined people may view it as divine, it was incredibly powerful, but he couldn't call it 'god-like'. Unless this was just his sleeping power?

Okay with that in mind it was a little more understandable.

He waited patiently for her to finish; which, thankfully, did not take long. Barely five minutes later she dropped her hands with a soft sigh and got to her feet, silently gesturing at him to follow her.

They made their way back to the exit of the chamber, Kimya pausing just long enough for Harry to realise she wasn't behind him anymore and turn. She was staring back at the tree thoughtfully before she shook herself, bowed, and turned. She caught him looking at her and shook her head, he shrugged and turned. Apparently she didn't want to talk about it.

He turned the corner and slammed into something also coming around the corner, light blinded him as he yelped, and a split second later Kimya rammed into him from behind, pitching him forward, arms coming up out of the darkness around him to catch her shoulder as a second weight thumped into his front, accompanied by a grunt and a

“Watch it, Clarus!”

“Ow! Oh, Harry, I'm sorry!”

“Oh! Lady Auburnbrie!”

Harry grunted, feeling Kimya pushing against him as she tried to regain her footing, apologising even as she rubbed her collarbone where she had landed on the Iron Assault.

He looked up, heart already sinking because Murphy was an absolute bastard, directly into the blue eyes of Ass Face.

Kimya pushed him again, “Cl-Clarus could you please let me go?” she requested, trying to wriggle her arm free of the Shield's grip. Harry looked past the teenager to the Shield whom they had apparently shoved him into and felt his face beginning to flush because it just _had_ to be the day he fell in a fucking river to run into them again, literally run into them, and oh _fucking hell_ , he could feel Ass Face's body heat and every line of muscle through his soaking wet clothes and this – was – not – _fair!_

Ass Face's eyes went wide and suddenly, the hand that had been on his upper arm went up, letting him go. Both of his hands went up and he quickly looked up and away, grimacing and tensing up, _which – did – not – help_.

As soon as Kimya took a step back, Harry shoved himself away, side-stepping around her to put some space between them, thankful that it was dark and no one could see how red his face had just gone.

“No wonder we didn't have any daemon trouble on the way in,” Harry heard Weskham saying from somewhere further back.

Clarus ruffled Ass Face's hair, smirking at the scowling teenager as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “Shall we all go somewhere with a little more space? Unless there's a tomb back there?” he asked hopefully.

Kimya shook her head, “No. Th'Alter t'th'Fulgurian rests there,” she explained solemnly.

“Then we should pay our respects,” Regis declared from somewhere behind Clarus.

There was a bit of a kerfuffle, one that resulted in Harry and Kimya having to go _back_ into the small chamber they just left in order for the Retinue to get in and pay their own respects. Harry waited for them to finish before leaving the chamber, leading the way back into the huge cavern – there was just one more path to take and he _hoped_ the door was down there, otherwise it meant having to go swimming, and he wasn't sure how he was going to figure out a bubblehead charm with his own magic so limited.

“So,” Regis declared cheerfully behind them, “What's a couple of nice folk like you doing in a place like this?” he asked salaciously, winking and waggling his eyebrows outrageously. Kimya giggled, and Harry huffed, rolling his eyes in good humour, at least until the man got a look at him and abruptly inhaled, smile dropping, “Harry, what happened to your _face?_ ” Which of course drew the rest of the Retinue to staring at him in sudden interest.

Ass Face went a little pink from his spot at the back of the group, and looked away.

“An Elder Coeurl,” Harry snapped defensively, “What happened to yours?”

Regis blinked, “Mine? Nothing.”

“My apologies to your mother then,” he snipped, prompting a roar of laughter from both Clarus and Cid, and a 'cough' from Weskham that he politely hid behind his fist as Regis goggled at him in disbelief.

“Catnip!” Kimya scolded, planting her hands on her hips even as her lips twitched wildly.

“What?” he demanded, folding his arms.

“Kitten got claws,” Clarus teased, wiping tears of mirth from the corner of his eyes.

“' _Kitten_ ' also has a cannon,” Harry told him dryly, patting the Iron Assault, “Want to call me that again?”

The big guy grinned, showing off all of his teeth, “I think I can take it.”

“I take it the chalk markings were your doing, Lady Auburnbrie?” Weskham asked politely, desperately trying to change the subject before some manner of foolish dick-waving contest began between their Shield and her young charge with the large gun.

She shook her head, “No, that's Harry's doin'. Said we may need t'find our way out in a hurry so we'd best know th'way out,” she explained proudly.

“And th' wet?” Cid asked sceptically, resting his spear on his shoulder as he eyed Harry's clothes.

“Turns out daemons around here like to crawl on the ceiling,” he declared sourly before turning and walking to the other tunnel.

There was a very thin passage with water on both sides, and given the bickering that kicked up behind him, he was entirely unsurprised to hear a loud splash, accompanied by laughter and swearing, and then a second splash that followed with even more raised voices. It was probably a good thing he and Kimya seemed to have wiped the entire place of its daemonic inhabitants. They would be back by dawn, more daemons finding shelter from the light, but for now, the only beings in there was them.

No Royal Tomb, but, as the poem promised, there was a Solheim bunker door, lit with faded orange-red symbols.

Kimya approached it thoughtfully, even as Harry took his notebook out and began to copy the markings – he could translate at camp, or in the truck on their way to the next site.

“N-no t-tomb?” Regis asked, shivering, his teeth chattering as he slopped after them, dripping wet from his impromptu cold bath. Ass Face behind him wringing out his hat and pretending that he wasn't completely soaked through after his Prince shoved him into the water first.

Thank god the light in here was terrible, Harry turned bright red and had to look away because _both_ of them were very well built and – nope, it was hormones, calm the fuck _down_ , Potter. Focus on the door. Yes they were both very good looking, but Regis had a fiancée back in Insomnia and acted like a first year, and Ass Face was.... well, an ass _hole_. There was _nothing_ to get flustered over. Come on, you've seen _Charlie_ shirtless. You've seen _Bill_ shirtless. You've seen _Fleur Delacour soaking wet in a skin tight swimsuit._ There was nothing there that you had not seen better of before now.

“Nope,” he declared with forced cheer, as he continued copying the words down, crouching so he could get all of them properly.

“Just a door that....” Kimya stood back and hummed, “I don't _think_ it needs reinforcin'..... its been feedin' off'a'th'Fulgurian's ambient magic. So it's still powered, but how much.....” she trailed off uncertainly. “I'll give it a lil', just t'be sure,” she decided firmly, and Harry quickly finished up the last of his copying and took a step back to give her space. The last thing he wanted to do was get his own magic sucked up and have to face some _un_ comfortable questions from these people.

She called her magic into her hands, filling the small chamber with her coppery rose-gold coloured magic before she laid her hands against the centre circle. At that point every single marking on the door and the surrounding walls lit up bloody, sinister, red.

Harry squinted against the sudden light, but refused to move away even as the rest of the Retinue clamoured for a split second in surprise and jumped backwards.

And then, just as suddenly as it all lit up, it all went dark again, and Kimya stepped back, wavering on her feet a little, and then directly into Harry's arms when he took three long strides forward and slipped an arm under her shoulders.

“I'm fine, jest', gimme a minute,” she begged tiredly.

“What in th'hell was that?” Cid demanded roughly from behind them as she leaned heavily on him, ignoring his wet clothing as she closed her eyes and snuggled into his shoulder.

“She fed it her magic,” Harry explained as simply as he could, knowing that she was in no fit state to explain herself. “They're sealed by an Oracle feeding it the entirety of her magic, from every cell in her body, even her soul. So when they begin to lose power, all they need it a top-up. Kimya can give it her magic, but she can also cut it off so that she doesn't get sucked completely dry.” He looked sternly at Regis, “Don't go trying to do that yourself. It could rip your magic out of your damn bones if you don't know how to cut the connection.”

Regis nodded, straightening up seriously despite how comical he looked in his soaking wet slightly crumpled suit. “Of course.”

Harry gave him the evil eye for a moment, but eventually let it pass, turning his attention back to Kimya. She had gone cold to the touch and was listless with exhaustion. “Think you can manage to walk if you lean against me?” he asked gently, rubbing her back and arms.

She hummed and then nodded, “Yes...”

He shifted the Iron Assault to a different position and then pulled her arm over his shoulder, thankful that she wasn't _that_ much taller than him, otherwise this would be a lot more difficult as he basically became her crutch and balance rolled into one. It was a long slow walk back, but.... he would be lying if he said he wasn't grateful to the Retinue for escorting them. Kimya was always exhausted after fixing up the door in Steyliff, she would stay there the whole night, resting between feeds there in that tiny chamber while Harry kept an eye out for daemons and the guardian coming their way. This wasn't the first time he had been forced to carry her out of a daemon nest.

But still, it was a great deal more reassuring having the Prince and his Shield in front of them, leading the way, Weskham and Cid in the rear covering their backs, and Ass Face literally right behind him – ready and willing to help him support Kimya through the trickier parts of the dungeon, like when they had to slide their way through very tiny gaps.

Clarus complained about scraping his nipples raw and Regis sassed him about eating so much his boobs gained a cup-size, and Harry had to snort because even he had been wondering how the Shield managed to _squish_ himself through some of those gaps. If he hadn't been behind the man, he would have had to ask if liberal amounts of butter were involved in getting him through.

It was completely pitch black outside as they finally tasted fresh air, and stumbled shivering out of the Hallow.

“Killiam haven is this way,” Harry called, taking the lead.

They weren't accosted as they travelled through the bushes, and the Retinue were quick to magic their camp into existence, Clarus, Cid, and Weskham moving like a well oiled team as they got the tent pitched in ten minutes, the campfire lit, and the camping stove going. Regis conjured chairs and Kimya was sat down before the tent was even put up, a blanket over her shoulders, and a drink in her hands as the Prince fussed over her and promised the drink would make her feel better. It was an Insomnian special, Ether, the ingredients had a unique reaction to the Armiger and could replenish magical energy.

As soon as she drank colour began to return to her cheeks, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

“Can you keep an eye on her while I go get our camping stuff from the truck?” he asked the Prince quietly as she huddled in her blankets.

He nodded regally, “Of course, Harry. Please, go. Cor will assist you,” he said, and Harry glanced over to where Ass Face was stood, sword in hand, patiently waiting for him to make sure Kimya was alright and head back to the truck.

He nodded, “Thank you, your Highness,” he murmured with a deep nod as he got to his feet. Kimya smiled tiredly from her seat, shooing him off with her free hand.

“Off ya go, lad. Let me enjoy a group'a handsome men fussin' after me in peace fer a bit,” she teased, prompting good natured laughter from the Retinue and even a snort from him as he joined the other teenager.

“Behave yourself,” he retorted with a soft grin.

“Don't do anythin' I wouldn't!” she called in response as the two left the firelight and began the trek back to the truck in only slightly awkward silence.

“Thank you,” Harry finally said as they dodged through the trees, heading towards the street-lights where the truck was waiting, “for helping me with her in there,” he added when Ass Face glanced at him in confusion.

“It's fine,” he muttered quietly, _embarrassed_ Harry realised watching him from the corner of his eye.

“No, really,” the Gryffindor pressed, frowning unhappily, “An extra pair of hands made the difference. She might have gotten hurt if it had just been me helping her through some of those passages. So thank you, really.”

Ass Face was apparently not one for blushing overly much, it was hard to see in the dark, but he had definitely gone a little pink as he scowled over at one of the trees as they reached the road, “You'd have done the same,” he mumbled, looking like he had swallowed a lemon. Wow, he really didn't know how to emote embarrassment very well. Harry hummed a little as they walked down the road to where they could see Kimya's truck in the street-lights not too far away.

Harry untied the tarp over the flatbed and climbed in, grabbing their tent, bedrolls, his backpack, and the case that had Kimya's clothing inside. He set them to one side and then grabbed the large bag they kept their pillows and sleeping bags in before climbing out and retying the tarp. When he turned around, Ass Face had already picked up the tent and slung it over his shoulder along with Kimya's suitcase.

“You don't have to – ” he began only to have the Insomnian shake his head and scowl once more, going pink and looking away with clenched teeth. “...Thanks,” Harry muttered uncomfortably as he gathered the rest of their stuff. It.... really would have been embarrassingly difficult carrying everything up to the haven by himself. He would have definitely had to make two trips.

The two walked back in embarrassed silence and walked into a campsite only mildly in chaos as the rowdy adults laughed and heckled each other – Regis had somehow lost his shirt while they were gone and was now in some kind of stand off against Clarus where they both compared bicep sizes, much to Kimya's glee, and the hilarity of both Cid and Weskham who were acting true to form as a highly scathing peanut gallery. Regis declaring he was built more for speed and flexibility when he inevitably lost the comparison; not everyone could be built like a fridge, he protested. Or move like one too, Cid added from his chair with a dirty cackle as he chugged a rootbeer.

Ass Face made a small, tiny, pain-filled noise of utter mortification as Clarus whipped his shirt off in order to flex properly and demand if any of them had ever seen a fridge look like _this_.

Harry freed a hand to pat him on the shoulder, if this was what he had to deal with every evening, suddenly a lot more about his behaviour made sense.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter wasn't out sooner, I ended up spending yesterday drawing that when someone asked me how Harry's scars looked.


	15. Chapter 15

Camping with the Retinue when they weren't being chased by Imperials was surprisingly wild for a Royal and his babysitters. Disregarding the flex-off that he had walked into earlier, it was.... warm, in the way that nights at the Burrow had been before things got too dark, too dangerous. Before the Death Eaters crawled out of their holes, and while Voldemort was a distant shadow, thought of darkly in the past. Wet clothes were hung up to dry, night clothes were pulled on, Clem was wrapped around his shoulders, and he helped Weskham cook dinner for everyone, learning what each of the ingredients were actually named as he went. He confessed that they were called differently at home so he was never sure how to actually cook with whatever it was they bought, maybe once he got his head around the weird names and found everything properly if they ran into each other again he'd give the Retainer a night off. The man laughed and said he looked forward to the chance to put his feet up, Astrals knew he wouldn't be getting it otherwise.

Cid practically pulled the Iron Assault apart down to its screws in fascination, and then put it back together. Attempting to fire it off the edge of the haven only ended up with the old man getting blasted off his feet when he didn't expect as much recoil as he got. Harry kindly opened up the vents at the side – they lessened the recoil, but they also shortened the range and impact force of the shot, so that he could try again without feeling like he'd just been kicked in the chest by a kujata. Regis and Kimya got into an enthusiastic conversation about magic that Harry listened to with half an ear as he helped Weskham. Clarus, once he calmed down and put a shit back on, and Cor sat down to do some maintenance on their respective weapons and ended up laughing and heckling Cid when the old man blasted himself with Harry's weapon.

It wasn't until the first few raindrops fell that they decided it was time to call it a night.

Quickly packing their stuff up, everyone gathered their still damp clothes and fled back into their tents as the temperature plunged sharply, and the rain really started to come down. It was so cold that in the short period of time between getting into the tent, putting their things to one side, and actually getting into their bedding, Harry could physically see his breath misting white in front of him in the lantern light.

Kimya shoved the suitcase between their rolls to one side and repositioned hers closer so that the two of them could huddle for warmth. It was a good idea, he couldn't find it in himself to protest as she threw her arm around him and dragged him in tight.

He wondered how the Retinue would react if they snuck in to steal their body heat?

Probably merciless teasing he decided before sleep dragged him down into darkness.

He woke alone the next morning to the sound of Cid's mobile phone outside the tent, Kimya had thrown her sleeping bag on top of him and a bleary check of the little travel clock he had picked up in Lestallum told him that it was almost nine, three minutes to. He grumbled and stretched out under the multiple sleeping bags, yawning as his wrists and ankles popped as he turned them.

Someone laughed outside, “Sounds like Harry's awake,” Regis laughed before the tent-flap was opened, revealing several curious faces, a disgustingly bright blue sky and sun-drenched verdant green forest and grass fields that smelt wet and green and alive. “Morning sleeping beauty!” the Prince greeted with _far_ too much enthusiasm for the early hour.

Harry glared at him with squinted eyes, and promptly decided that no, he wasn't willing to deal with the world right now. He rolled over and dragged the blankets back over his head with a grunt, and curled into a tight ball.

Both Regis and Clarus laughed and there was a rustle, more snickering, and then a long breathless silence before something that smelt absolutely _delicious_ filled his tent.

More snickering.

Okay – what –

Harry stuck his head out from under the blankets to see Weskham holding a plate of cooked breakfast and Regis using a small handfan to waft the scent into his tent. As soon as he looked up Clarus fell back howling with laughter, and the noise was enough to ensure that he was most definitely not going to get back to sleep – his own growling stomach either.

“Ugh, fine,” he groaned with ill grace and kicked his way free of his bedding while the 'adults' retreated from his tent with childish giggles.

And of course the first thing that happened when he crawled out was he put his barefoot in a cold puddle.

Lovely.

Kimya beamed at him from where she was sat cross-legged on the waterproof tarp from the truck, she had another Ether half-empty in front of her and her personal bestiary. Cor was sat next to her with a book out on his lap that looked to be the Insomnian variant of the same book, only with actual photographs instead of careful hand-drawn pictures that many a hunter had laboured over painstakingly.

“You alright there, Sleeping Beauty?” Clarus teased, grinning.

Harry glowered at him as he settled his glasses into position, fussing with his hair so it wasn't caught on the strap. “I'm surprised you guys know that story,” he yawned, how the fuck did Disney exist on Eos?

“Who _doesn't_ know that story?” Regis asked with a laugh as he dropped into his camping chair.

Harry hummed and left the haven quickly to empty his bladder, grimacing at the wet grass underfoot but figuring it was already a lost cause. He cleaned up as best he could and shuffled back to the haven, stepping carefully over puddles and avoiding sharp rocks because his feet weren't exactly the toughest of stuff. He thanked Weskham gratefully when the plate that had been so cruelly used to unearth him from his bed was presented to him. Unless he wanted to sit in a puddle, the only other available space was on Cor's other side on the tarp. Harry didn't hesitate like he probably would have before yesterday in Fociaugh, he sat down and dug in to his breakfast, ignoring the way the other teenager went tense for a moment, and not noticing the thumbs up Regis gave from the otherside of the camp, even if it did make Kimya burst into giggles. As far as Harry was concerned, Cor wasn't as big of an asshole as he had originally considered. Sure he was awkward as hell and didn't know how to emote in a way that was even remotely human, but he'd helped Kimya without even needing to be asked, and obviously without the expectation of even getting a thank you at the end of it. That made him alright in Harry's book, if nothing else.

Cid sighed from his camping chair as he hung his call up, “Good news, Reggie,” the mechanic called across the wet little campsite, causing everyone to look up. “Found another Tomb,” he announced, “Mid and the boys found it while expandin' the tunnels.” He looked over at Kimya and Harry, “Found a mighty strange lookin' steel door too. Couldn't make heads or tails of it, asked if I might know somethin' about it,” he added pointedly.

The huntress pulled her map out from the back of her bestiary where she usually tucked it, “Where abouts are we talkin' here?” she asked opening it up to the general locations of where they had marked off doors based on the poem from Steyliff.

“Keycatrich,” Cid explained, and Harry shoved his plate off his lap, leaning over on his hands and knees to get a better look at the map, ignoring Cor who jerked back in alarm to suddenly have him practically crawl across his lap to get to her.

“This one,” Kimya explained, pointing towards the Star's Blessing in the northern most corner of Leide. Keycatrich was a few miles south of the large stone structure they saw on the aerial image of the map though. They had been expecting the door to literally be under that stone structure, or near-by.

“Won't hurt to check it out,” Harry muttered, “We need to go into Leide anyway, if only to cross Ostium gorge off our list of potential locations.”

Kimya looked up at him, and then huffed a laugh into her hand, “Uh, Harry? Migh' want't'back it up a bit,” she suggested with good humour.

He blinked at her, and then realised Cor was staring pointedly up at the sky, staying very still, and leaning back in a way that was probably hell on his stomach in order to avoid getting too close to him. Harry coloured and quickly sat back with an apology, giving the other teenager the chance to breathe out slowly and sit comfortably again with a mumbled ' _it's fine_ ', even as he stared carefully down at the book in his lap with drawn up shoulders and pink ears.

Poorly concealed snickers went up amidst the actual eleven year olds and Harry rolled his eyes before reaching for his breakfast again, determined to finish it, and _pointedly_ ignoring the unholy look of glee on Regis' face as he leered down at his fifteen year old bodyguard as he hunched, scowling, with both hands white-knuckled over the book in his lap. At least until Weskham smacked his Prince upside the back of the head, to Cid and Clarus' amusement. Kimya giggled herself, patting the bodyguard's shoulder kindly.

Harry wanted nothing of this mischief and shenanigans, and said as much as he got to his feet and returned his plate before going to get dressed.

Yesterdays clothes were still a bit damp, and they smelt kind of.... mineral-y? He couldn't really describe it, just that he didn't particularly like it. So he rummaged out another change and began to pack everything in their tent up properly, ready to make a proper move – unlike certain members of Royalty, he did not have magical pockets. He found Clem perched on top of his Iron Assault, dosing apparently, so he left her be as he packed, and when it came time to collapse the tent he carried the cannon out into the sun carefully so as not to disturb her before pulling up the pegs and beginning to gather up the guide-ropes.

That seemed to remind the rest of the Retinue that it was probably an idea to start packing their own shit up, and pretty soon the little campsite was quite busy as they began to pack everything away. Kimya carted their bedding and belongings back down to the truck while Harry repacked the tent. The Retinue focused on their own things, though Cor was left out of it as he copied several of the hunter notes from Kimya's book into the Insomnian one in his lap – guess that even though they had better pictures they didn't have the kind of information that the local hunters would.

Their camp packed up, Harry and Kimya's things carefully stacked and stored in the back of their truck, the two let the Retinue pile into the back so they wouldn't be forced to walk three miles up the road to the parking space they left the Regalia in yesterday. They went slow so no one would fall out and waited for the men to get out and in their own car. Given how everyone planned to go to Keycatrich together, and both Harry and Kimya intended to use Regis' connections to get them into the mines so they could investigate the mysterious 'door', they would be travelling in convoy.

“Such a nice young man,” Kimya mused happily as the Retinue pulled away in front of them.

“Mm?” Harry queried, as he scribbled in his book, knee pressed against the dashboard as he worked on his translations.

“Cor,” she clarified as she followed, “Lovely young man,” she said, “Very respectful. I approve.”

Harry peered at her from his notebook, “That's.... nice?” he offered in confusion, wondering where this was coming from.

She glanced at him, “No?” she asked before turning her attention back to the road, “Well that's fine too. Mind ya don't let anyone push ya int'a nothin' ya don't want to, ya hear? It's yer body and yer choice,” she told him firmly.

He was so confused. “I'll.... bare that in mind,” he promised before returning to his notebook, shaking the weirdness off. He had translations to get done. This one seemed to be about the city of Solheim, how it was run under the rule of the Summer King, the Infernian himself. Much of what he was reading resounded a great deal with ancient roman and ancient greek culture mixed up together with things from what he would _tentatively_ call Egyptian from what little he remembered of his Junior School history projects. It seemed like Solheim put a great deal of cultural emphasis on industry, respecting nature and the cycles, the natural order of things, and love – great festivals were held often for the purpose of finding marriage partners, regardless of gender, which was a bit surprising for Harry. But it... made sense given how he had not yet encountered homophobia in any capacity at all, despite having been approached by both men and women, and seen men and women with people of the same gender. No one seemed to blink at it like they would have done back home, knowing that it was _love_ and not _reproduction_ that was considered such a core part of their cultural history explained that.

Each of the Astrals were worshipped on their specific days, on their holidays there would be special festivals, weddings and funerals were huge events, births as well – and then talk of the Darkness rising, and the anger of the Summer King who believed it to be a betrayal of mens' hearts. That they would willingly turn from and on him, letting it into their hearts.

So.

That was how the Astral War started.....

A disease struck the people of Solheim, a 'darkness' that caused... well, it sounded like massive magical mutation brought about via dark magic. But the question he had now was, were they actually practitioners _of_ dark magic, or did a dark magic curse or disease strike? Like vampirism or lycanthropy. Was it a bit of both?

“Afternoon, ma'am, names please?” an unfamiliar male voice requested from the driver's side window, jerking Harry out of his thoughts and into realising that they had actually stopped at some kind of.... border? Check-point? He blinked in bewilderment, looking over at the official looking man in uniform as he spoke to Kimya, writing something on a clipboard. Up ahead the Retinue had driven to the otherside of a lowered yellow barrier stick and were waiting for them while a group of men in the same uniform as the guy at their window watched with large guns in hand – but not aimed. Harry felt a surge of unease at the sight of them, and at the muzzled dogs next to them.

“Everything seems to be in order,” the guy at the window decided before grinning at them. “Now, curfew is at eight, please be at yer hotel or where-ever it is y'all are plannin' t'spend the night. Keep yer noses clean and y'all'll be fine. Drive safe now,” he said, slapping the side of their window and stepping back, waving an arm to his companions who moved into action, one going and hauling open the barrier while the others fanned out once again to cover them as they drove in.

“Back with me now?” Kimya teased, glancing at him as they drove after the Regalia.

He nudged his eyes up and rubbed his eyes, “Sorry. We're here already?” he asked curiously, sitting up and groaning as his lower back popped audibly. Kimya hissed and laughed as he wriggled and stretched with painfilled grumbles.

“Sure are. Ya've been bent over tha' book fer th'last two hours,” she explained as they pulled into a beautiful little town filled with red brick buildings. Harry shifted forward, looking around intently, this... looked almost like home. Like it could have been any old fashioned village from the south of England cobbled together into a larger town. The Regalia pulled into the driveway of a modest detached brick house with a pretty walled in garden and white framed windows. Kimya parked in the street behind them, and they climbed out just as a young man burst out of the front door and rushed to the Regalia and threw his arms around Cid, laughing the whole while.

“Pops!” the twenty-something year old exclaimed, “Six, it's good t'see ya, old man!” he said, squeezing the smaller man a little bit.

Cid's son looked nothing like him, tall and muscular, he had almost delicate features that he must have inherited from his mother, freckles smeared over the bridge of his nose and dusting his forehead, and bright sun-bleached wheat blond hair in sweaty jaw length curls. Wearing a dirty white t-shirt, dirty blue jeans, and heavy boots. Behind him in the doorway a beautiful auburn haired lady with green eyes in a white and yellow sundress was stepping out with a laugh, another slightly older woman with dark brown hair and a tiny baby in her arms following in a pair of soft sweats and a t-shirt.

The Retinue were welcomed with open arms, hugs and kisses exchanged and given out liberally while Harry and Kimya stood back only a little awkwardly before someone remembered and thought to introduce them to everyone present. Mid Sophiar was Cid's only son, he was an engineer working in the Keycatrich mines, ostensibly a normal mine, but in reality a weapons manufacturing facility for the Lucian Army. He had recently married into the Aurum family only a year ago, tying the knot with the mayor's daughter, Melba, and lived with her and her older sister Alba and her newborn daughter Carol. Newborn-newborn, she explained with a loving smile at the tiny pink bundle in her arms as Kimya cooed, only four days ago.

Everyone was brought into the house, and ushered into the conjoined living/dining room for drinks and nibbles. A pair of small fluffy dogs were gated into the kitchen and jumping up and yapping excitedly over all the guests while a tubby ginger cat lounged disdainfully on the back of a sofa watching them with judgemental yellow eyes.

The white dog with the brown ears was Bunty who did not like her stomach touched but went mad for butt-scratchies, and the black and white one was her brother Charlie who was a licking monster and would stick his tongue in just about anything he could reach, Mid explained with a laugh, seeing where Harry's eyes were lingering before introducing Layla the cat, who was best left alone unless she came to visit him.

No sooner than Harry had sat down, Layla was already jumping down to investigate him, beeping curiously as she sniffed his knee, and then the hand he introduced to her. She beeped again and rubbed her cheek into his knuckles, purring when he started stroking her. He could almost _feel_ Clementine's disapproval radiating from his chest pocket, but as long as the cat ignored her then Harry was fine with her deciding that she was going to occupy his lap now, pay attention to me. She was pretty cute actually, meowing demandingly and batting at his hand whenever he stopped petting her, prompting laughter from her owners as they handed tea out, and forced Harry to stop paying attention to her. Such betrayal.

The Gryffindor grinned as he accepted his with both surprise and delight, ignoring the noisy complaints from his lap, because this was actually the first time he had found _black tea_ in this world, and he wasn't a fan of the 'matcha' green tea that was available in the shop at Meldacio meaning it had been over _four months_ since he'd last had a decent cup of tea. The first mouthful alone was enough to put him in a considerably better mood as he relaxed backwards against Kimya's legs where he sat on the living room floor. The two of them sipped their tea, staying out of the way, and let the conversations flow around them, listening as Mid updated his father and the Prince about the goings on inside the trench, the rest of the Retinue listening with interest.

“Shame he died,” Mid admitted with a mournful shake of his head after detailing an incident with an utterly moronic specimen of an Apprentice who decided to ignore everything he was ever taught and use a lump hammer to disassemble a 'dud' bomb. Blew himself up, and injured three other people, and brought down a wall, revealing a cavity they hadn't been aware of until then. “We started clearin' it out, explorin' how far the cave went and found one a' yer tombs, but the cave went even further and that's when we found th'door. Figured y'all might know somethin' about it.”

Cid smirked, “Tombs we know. Doors'd be _their_ speciality,” he brushed off, jerking a thumb to Kimya and Harry.

Melba peered at them, “Well, anythin' y'all know'd be mighty helpful,” she told them brightly.

“How much d'ya want 'em t'know?” the huntress asked, looking at the Prince, “It _is_ yer family business.”

Regis smiled a little self-depreciatingly. “In this instance, Lady Auburnbrie,” there was a brief inhale from the two Aurum women at her name, “I believe ignorance would be the greater evil, and the greater threat to the good people of Keycatrich. Until such a time as I can deal with the menace, it would be best that the door be treated with the respect and care it should, in order to ensure it does not come to harm,” he declared, falling into formality with an ease that still startled Harry sometimes. Given how Regis could giggle like a firstie over the most stupid of innuendo, to see him go from joking dork to regal Prince between one breath and the next was _jarring_.

Kimya took a breath, “Well, Mister an' Missus Aurum, an' Ms Aurum,” she added with a polite nod to Alba and Carol next to her, “Th'doors have been th'best kept secret of th'Auburnbries' fer generations,” she explained slowly, clasping her fingers around her drink as she leaned forward over Harry. “There are eight'a them, dotted all over Lucis. Maybe more in other countries, I couldn't say. Stories passed down through th'family, through th'Ladies, all tell'a th'doors, and the daemons the Lucian Kings sealed away – too wicked t'be allowed t'roam free, too powerful t'be destroyed by their might alone.”

Melba grabbed at her husband, her face twisted in fear, “Daemons?” she gasped fearfully, moving an arm in front of him as if she could shield him from them anyway.

Kimya nodded, “An' fiends. All locked behind a door, th' Oracle layin' down her life to seal it shut. But fer many a'th'doors, its been hundreds upon hundreds a'years, and th'magic is fadin'. So, me an' Harry here are goin' t'all'a'them, and reinforcin' 'em,” she explained with a smile as she carded her fingers through his hair. “I do th'magic, he keeps me safe.”

“Your son?” Alba asked kindly.

Harry shook his head, even as Kimya nodded, “Good as,” she declared proudly, and Harry looked down at the cat in his lap, something complicated turning over in his stomach.

“Yer mother must be proud,” the woman said with a warm smile and Harry shrugged mutely, focusing on the cat and rubbing her head and chin intently. He was sure Lily Potter would have been very proud of him for helping these people, but he couldn't help but think she would also be disappointed in him for not trying harder to go home, for leaving the world she worked so hard to protect when it needed him most.

“Would you be willing to let Lady Auburnbrie and her bodyguard come with us into the trench?” Cor asked from where he had been sat at the dining room table with Regis and Clarus.

“Of course!” Mid exclaimed with a nod, and when Harry looked up at the other teenager, saw him watching him from the corner of his eyes, but instead of looking away when he was caught, he twitched an eyebrow in askance. Harry wrinkled his nose but nodded slightly. He was fine, complicated feelings aside, he was fine. “We can go now if you'd like? Actually it would have to be now, what with the curfew, unless you'd prefer tomorrow?” Mid continued, ignorant as he asked with wide blue eyes.

Regis beamed, “Now would be wonderful. Are you quite recovered from yesterday, Lady Auburnbrie?” he asked looking over at the young woman.

She smiled, “If yer willin' t'part with a few a'yer special drinks, I'm sure I'll manage jest fine,” she told him.

“Certainly!” the Prince exclaimed happily.

And that was that, the group drained their tea and got to their feet, Harry had a bit of trouble shooing Layla from his lap but Melba cheerfully scooped the feline up and out and practically threw her onto the sofa. The ginger cat hiffed at her owner with wounded dignity and stalked off with a dismissive flick of her tail.

“Should I bring my gun?” Harry asked as they left the house.

Mid looked alarmed when he saw the muzzle of the cannon peeking up from the passenger window of the truck, which was understandable. Harry could fit his hand down that. “That – won't be necessary,” the man promised weakly, “No fiends or daemons have gotten into the trench, we keep the lights workin' at all hours t'make sure,” he declared and lead them down through the village, past the village centre where a large statue of a man in armour could be seen. Harry eyed it dubiously because..... armour that looked like that typically belonged to villains in his limited knowledge of pop-culture from back home. Something to do with good men not needing to look intimidating because they were protectors, not attackers.

The guards on the entrance of the trench looked suspicious for all of the thirty seconds it took them to recognise their Prince, at which point salutes were being thrown and the men were scrambling for attention and order. Someone vanished into the tunnels at speed, and Harry figured they were going to warn the rest of the guards and workers inside of a 'royal inspection', which meant that they were going to not only be on their best behaviour, but there was also going to be a flurry of cleaning activity as well. He snorted a little, people never changed, regardless of where or what world they were in.

Mid led them through multiple well lit corridors, and through a number of cast-iron barred gates that soldiers were stood to attention outside of. They saluted their Prince through each of them, eyed his Retinue with respect, and then both Harry and Kimya with varying levels of confusion and suspicion.

There was a lot of activity in the small chambers they passed, and a lot of people seemed to be in the side corridors craning their necks to try and get a look at their Royal visitor. At some point as they walked through the tunnels, Regis gained four inches in height, his shoulders drew back, and his face became stiff and his chin lifted, giving his whole countenance a kind of quiet dignity. Behind him, both Clarus and Cor stood with shoulders drawn back, lifted chins, sharp eyes, and ready hands. Behind them Harry and Kimya followed, and while _Harry_ felt a bit like a bag of washing, slumped and kind of crumpled and unsure of where he stood in all this, Kimya practically _floated_ as she followed after them, displaying a serenity he had never seen from her before. Both Weskham and Cid brought up the rear of their strange procession, the former neatly and the latter with the sharp assessing eyes that everyone watching should have been the _most_ worried about.

“Here we go,” Mid announced, leading them into a huge concrete room, “Uh, don't mind th'scorch marks. We ain't had a chance t'get the pressure washer in here yet,” he explained as he lead them to a broken section of all at the back that had several men with picks widening up and a generator with more lights running along a rough-hewn corridor. “Right. Tomb is here, down this passage t'yer left. An' th'strange door directly down here in front'a y'all.”

Harry and Kimya exchanged looks, “Perhaps, given how this is a safe location, it would be faster to split here,” the Gryffindor suggested, looking at the Prince. “A family tomb is... personal. We would not wish to intrude,” he added quietly, aware of a few eyes watching from further up the corridor.

Regis inclined his head ever so slightly, “Your consideration is appreciated. Weskham, please to give Lady Auburnbrie a few Ethers.”

There was a brief shuffle of people in the corridor as the Retainer quickly provided a handful of Ethers that Harry tucked into his pouches with a grateful bow.

“Yer Highness,” Kimya intoned, curtsying without her skirts, Harry quickly following in a bow, figuring that if _she_ was doing that it was something he had to? His country may have had a Queen but this courtly shit wasn't even on his radar. “Go in th'Grace a'th'Gods.”

Regis bowed ever so slightly to her, his Retinue following, far deeper than their Prince. “And with you.”

They split, and Kimya floated down the corridor to the chamber at the end of the corridor, passing out of sight and then slumping. “I _hate_ havin' t'do that nonsense,” she muttered unhappily, pressing her hands into the small of her back and pushing until a satisfying pop was heard. “Right. Well. We ain't got long. Chop chop,” she declared, marching to the door.

“Okay,” Harry muttered, rolling his shoulders, “How do we do this?” he asked.

Kimya nodded, “Call yer magic int'a yer hands,” she commanded, and it took barely a breath before Harry's hands filled with golden light. She nodded and reached around him to grasp his wrists, her hands suddenly went very hot and he felt very.... strange. Like something was pressing down against his magic, like, like a weighted blanket. “Alright. Put yer hands on th'door. When its had enough, or yer in danger, I'm gunna cut yer magical connection. Got it? Then it'll be up t'you t'figure out how t'do it yerself.”

He nodded. Trial by fire indeed. He knew that if they weren't on a time limit she would be a lot more careful about explaining and preparing for this, but they thought they would be dealing with this alone. No Retinue thirty seconds up the corridor that might interrupt at a moment's notice. And while Kimya was fine with them knowing about her magic, Harry wasn't – and she respected that, for which he was grateful.

As soon as he put his hands on the door, it felt like a Dementor had plunged its hands into the pit of his stomach. He couldn't help but gasp, even as the walls lit up bloody red with runes, and _burned_ in his eyes, sucking on his magic like water poured down a drain. Kimya cursed against the back of his head in alarm, and it felt like he needed to –

She yanked him backwards, and all of a sudden it felt like his ears popped, like the world plunged him into hot water, and then left him freezing cold, shaking, and feverish.

She broke one of the Ethers into his stomach and suddenly he could hear her voice.

“That was a stronger reaction than I thought there would be,” she gasped in fright, rubbing his arms. “Ya alright, Catnip?” she asked worriedly.

He nodded mutely, sagging in her arms. She broke another ether on him and he shuddered violently. He stopped feeling so cold, but he didn't stop shaking. She broke another one and the trembling died down.

“Does it need more?” he asked thickly and she, thankfully, shook her head.

“No. Yer magic is.... _stronger_ than mine,” she admitted, something complex in her voice, “An' it reacts better t'th'door. But that makes it yank on ya _harder_. I had t'physically pull ya off. I couldn't break th'connection,” she explained, sounding frightened.

He swallowed hard and pushed himself out of her arms. He needed to figure out how to break that connection on his own, or their plans were going to fall through. So, he drew a little bit of his magic into his hand, it was thin, practically watery in comparison to what he had drawn up before, but when he placed his hand against the door it felt less like having a hand plunged into his stomach, and more like something trying to turn his bellybutton inside out with cold hands.

“ _Finite_ ,” he intoned, and, hah, his magic reacted automatically, the way he had spent the last five years training it to at Hogwarts. It surged for all of a split-second, and then snapped back, breaking the thin watery-connection, and tucking itself away back into his core.

He staggered backwards, and Kimya broke the fifth and _last_ Ether against him, and he _breathed_.

“Are ya okay?” she asked tightly.

He nodded, “Yeah. Th-the charm, we learn it at school when we're eleven, it ends active magic. Th'doors are passive. It broke my connection to it,” he explained tiredly. And Kimya kissed the side of his head, murmuring soft praise, only to freeze at the sound of footsteps in the corridor. Harry was exhausted, and Kimya looked at him worriedly, he shook his head, he wasn't ready to leave, not yet, he needed.... he needed to rest a bit.

“Copy th'runes. When yer ready t'go, say so, an' I'll pretend till then,” she whispered and he nodded, affection surging in the pit of his stomach as she settled back against the wall, faking exhaustion, while Harry stayed where he was, kneeling on the floor in front of the door, and tugged his notebook from his pocket. He rested while he took his notes, and Kimya pretended that the door had been more drained than the one at Fociaugh, she just needed a moment before she felt better. Her stomach was turning into all sorts of knots.

And if Harry's hands shook a little as he copied the notes, he didn't think anyone noticed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone noticed Harry. 
> 
> Mid Sophiar and Melba Aurum are indeed Cindy's parents, however, it'll be another four years before she's born yet. Alba Aurum is an OC, as is her daughter Carol. 
> 
> Also YES I KNOW DISNEY IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR SLEEPING BEAUTY I AM AN ANIMATOR AND I AM ALSO BRITISH WITH GAULIC CELT ROOTS - I GOT TOLD THE ORIGINAL AS A CHILD, NOT THE DISNEY VERSION. But Harry's only exposure to fairytales IS through Disney, and even then very minutely because the Dursleys don't approve of magic or imagination.
> 
> Oh, and the story about the guy that blew himself up is actually based on a true story. Guy I knew did bomb disposal in the army, he's on base, they're dealing with WW2 bombs, they're still live, they're just OLD, and they're about the size of labradors. So my friend is straddling one, trying to unscrew the warhead from this bastard, and it just ISN'T moving. Along comes the squad DUMBASS and goes "I'll help!" snatches a lump hammer up and before my friend can stop him, smashes the warhead off the casing with the fucking hammer. My friend is FROZEN, like literally, he can't move. There's a fucking BOMB between his BOLLOCKS and Private DUMBASS just hit it with a fucking HAMMER. Less than fifty feet away is even MORE WW2 bombs awaiting disposal. And to make things even better, the ARMOURY is a 100 metres behind them as well. If that warhead had gone off, that would have been my friend dead, Private dumbass dead, their entire unit dead, and half the base sitting somewhere in the lower atmosphere. So yeah. As soon as my friend was able to walk, he waddled his way to his SO (because he did in fact shit himself), and told him what just happened. I don't know what happened to Private Dumbass but I imagine he was Dishonourably Discharged so fast his ass didn't even touch floor before he was out the gate.


	16. Chapter 16

It took half an hour to copy down everything on the wall and door, by then Harry felt steady enough on his feet to walk out no problem. It was probably a good thing he didn't have the Iron Assault with him, he wouldn't have been able to _carry_ the monster let alone walk around with it in his current state.

“Ya all done?” Kimya asked, he nodded, and she chuckled, “Good timin'. Help me up,” she said, reaching out to him. He 'helped' her to her feet, not that she needed it, and the small group left the chamber to meet up with Mid who was speaking to a very official looking man. Harry didn't pay much attention to the goings on, most of his attention on keeping the facade of being fine, the rest of it on Kimya herself as she continued to pretend her own exhaustion. He did however catch word of the mayor stopping by Mid and Melba's in the hopes of speaking to the Prince. Which meant more politics. Would Kimya mind if he stayed in the truck for this?

And then they were leaving, at long fucking last. Unfortunately, stepping out into the late afternoon Leide air was like walking into a hot kitchen after being in the freezer, like getting punched in the face. Thankfully no one noticed his discomfort as they all made their way back to the Aurum house, and ignored the people peering out of their windows, clustering on the streets, the children exclaiming in their front gardens, pointing at the Prince excitedly.

There were no words to describe how uncomfortable the attention made him, even though _for once_ it wasn't _him_ on the receiving end! For that alone, he decided he would forgive Regis acting like an eight year old around them, he probably didn't get much in the way of opportunity to cut loose – but he would have to remember the guy _was_ Royalty. That came with rules if he recalled his own monarchy correctly. It also came with rules about who they could and could not associate with, and how those people were to be presented and spoken to in public, as well as how their Retinue were to behave as well.

Alba was in the front garden waiting for them, she was settled comfortably on a sun-lounger with a little table next to her bearing a teapot and cup wearing comfortable cotton trousers and a loose blouse, Carol feeding ravenously on a breast. The woman waved at them as they approached, “Pa's waitin' inside fer y'all. 'e's got th'whole town council with 'im,” she explained, “Mel's gone runnin' t'th'store. She'll be back inna few.”

Regis nodded, inclining his head, “Thank you, Ms Aurum.”

“Yer Highness,” she returned, and the group headed into the house.

Cor nudged his arm from behind, leaning in, “Do for Kimya as I do for Regis,” he whispered as they filed into the house to the chorus of barking dogs from the kitchen. Harry stiffened a little, dismayed to realise that today wasn't over yet, but nodded silently as they stepped into the joined living room where the town Mayor was bowing in front of the Prince, and doing an admirable job of ignoring both Charlie and Bunty going mental behind their gate in the kitchen.

“An honour, your Highness,” the man was gushing, his accent considerably more diminished, or carefully _controlled_ than either of his daughters.

“No more so than the opportunity to meet the fine hardworking men and women of Keycatrich Trench,” Regis demurred before gesturing to them, “Allow me to introduce the Lady Kimya Auburnbrie,” he declared, Kimya stepping forward and curtsying. The Mayor flustered and immediately dropped once more into bows and effusive exclamations of delight at her presence. “My Retinue, I believe you are familiar with young Mid Sophiar's father, my personal mechanic, Cid,” Regis continued once Kimya had the chance to offer her own flowery words of thanks and praise for the town and take a step back.

At the introduction of Cid, the Mayor relaxed and more of his accent slipped through as he greeted the mechanic. They were apparently more than familiar with each other, which Harry would have expected given how their children were married to each other.

“Lord Clarus Amacitia, my Sworn Shield,” More bowing and flowery words, “Master Weskham Amaugh, my Retainer and Hand,” Less bowing, more terrified expressions, and _very carefully chosen words_ , “my personal bodyguard, Staff-Sergeant Cor Leonis of the Crownsguard,” no bows, but definitely nods of respect, considerably less flowery words but very clear cut words of respect, “and Lady Auburnbrie's personal bodyguard, Harry Potter of Meldacio Hunter HQ.” Dismissive looks were exchanged, but he received polite nods and vague words of approval at his presence. Guess the people of Keycatrich weren't too keen on the hunters.

Some more flowery words were exchanged and everyone moved to arrange themselves around the Aurums' dining room table, the Mayor took a seat directly opposite the head of the table to Regis, who sat with Clarus at his left, Kimya at his right, Cid thumped down on Clarus' otherside while Weskham and Cor took up flanking positions standing at their Prince's back. Conscious of what Cor told him in the hallway, Harry copied their example and stood stiffly behind Kimya as a strange man sat down next to her – apparently the head of the Keycatrich division of the Lucian Army.

It was a very long and boring meeting in Harry's opinion, he _tried_ to follow the conversation, but there seemed to be several layers to everyone's words, and they referenced a lot of events and people he hadn't the faintest of ideas regarding. But.... from what he could _gather_.... the Mayor wanted to welcome the Prince with some kind of large garden party in the town square, to boost the morale of the town in the face of the encroaching Imperial threat. And while Regis wasn't opposed, it would not be a good idea to advertise his presence overly much right this moment – given the happenings that occurred in Lestallum only days prior. And Meldacio, Kimya chimed in, and then proceeded to explain the raid that occurred the day after she and Harry left.

So, by the end of the evening, it was finally hashed out that instead of the _week_ long visitation and party that the Mayor wanted, it would be just tomorrow, the Retinue would be present for the entire day of festivities, and the following morning they would be leaving.

And then, with much pomp and ceremony, _incredibly subtle yes subtle suggestions to stay in better accommodations the Mayor could most certainly provide_ , and bows, the Mayor and his entourage left. And Regis sprawled like a spineless teenager in his seat with a loud groan.

“A _Party_ , really? That much push for a daemon-cursed party?” the Prince complained staring plaintively at Cid. “Is his position elected?”

Cid laughed, “Yep. Congrats Reggie, ya gunna get paraded around like a prize bull at show,” he taunted with a grin, and the Prince groaned again, quickly cutting himself off and sitting up straight once again when the front door opened. He hitched his regal countenance back into place, and then relaxed again as Alba and Melba came in.

Harry snickered tiredly, “Better you than me,” he said, kneeling down to pick up Layla as she twined between his legs, beeping loudly for attention, smiling at the ladies as they passed and made their way into the kitchen.

The Prince scoffed, “Ooohoho no, Harry,” he said, pointing at him dramatically, “If I have to suffer, so do the rest of you.”

“Translation,” Weskham provided, rounding the table, “Lady Auburnbrie will be in attendance, and as her bodyguard....” He gave the Gryffindor a very _pointed_ look.

He shook his head, clutching the cat like a shield, “I – don't – have any kind of training for an event like that, or anything that would be appropriate to wear for it!” he protested quickly, skirting away from the Retainer while Clarus and Cid chuckled at him from their side of the table.

Regis smirked, “We've got twelve hours between now and then, Cor can give you a quick run down. As for clothes, if I'm going down – _you're going with me,_ ” he threatened, flicking a black and gold lined credit card from somewhere within his suit.

Harry gaped at him, “It's gone curfew! And I don't think there's anyone able to make anything appropriate in such a short amount of time!”

The Prince flicked his card at his Retainer who smirked _cruelly_ in the face of Harry's mounting horror, “Hehehe, you underestimate the power of money. See to it, Weskham.”

“By your command, your Highness. I do believe I already have a good idea of Mister Potter's measurements,” he announced primly, and marched out of the house, ignoring Harry's spluttering protests.

“There's – Regis, you _can't_! That's way too much money!” he squawked in horror, “I don't – I can't pay that back!”

The Prince flicked a hand dismissively, “It is literally pocket change, Harry,” he stated as he pushed himself to his feet with a grimace, “Bodyguards are typically issued a uniform,” he explained, extending a hand to help Kimya to her feet as well. “And since the lovely Lady Auburnbrie is under the protection of the Meldacio Hunter HQ, and thus former Crownsguard operatives, that means her protection falls under my purview as well. Not only that, but you are performing an essential task on my behalf – protecting my citizens until such a time as I can do so personally. Consider this your pay cheque for services rendered if you must,” he declared as he flopped down on the sofa.

Kimya patted his shoulder, “I'm sorry, I know this makes ya uncomfortable, but it was th'only way t'get ya int'a th'mines, an' now we have t'play t'it. Bare with it, please?” she begged hopefully, cupping his cheek. Harry sighed, slumping in exhaustion, he really wanted nothing more than to have a shower and crawl into bed to sleep. He felt cold and wrung out and bone-tired in a way that usually only his end of year shenanigans could cause.

“Alright,” he muttered, leaning into her touch a little.

“It does mean you get to carry that monster gun around with you tomorrow,” Regis added with a grin as he hung over the back of the sofa, “And tell people you're on duty so you can't really socialise. Cor does it all the time because he hates people.”

“I hate idiots and politicians. There's a difference,” the teenager stated hotly with a frown at his Prince.

“God, yes,” Harry agreed in exasperation.

Regis snickered, “You sound like you speak from experience.”

“More than I would like,” Harry complained, and then promptly buried his face into Layla's back because he did _not_ want to think of Fudge right now. Or Umbridge. Or Malfoy senior.

Clarus chuckled, “Back to the topic at hand. Wesk's handling the threads, all that remains is the trainin',” he reminded them all, making Harry look up from the cat as she planted a paw on his chin and mrrp'd at him. “You already pretty much act like Kimya's bodyguard anyway, just need a bit of polishing. You'll pass t'anyone who doesn't have Crownsguard training, and even then, if they notice they'll just subscribe it to you being a Hunter instead.”

The Prince clapped his hands, “Hop to it then, Cor! Your student is in need of guidance!” he commanded with a grin that had his bodyguard shoot him filthy daggers from across the room.

He sighed deeply and moved away from the wall he had been lurking against, gesturing at Harry to follow him, “We are not doing this in front of him,” he grumbled with a glare at Regis who batted his eyelashes innocently, hand over his heart in the most bullshit 'who me?' way possible, and immediately made a multitude of kissy faces at his back when he turned to face Harry. “In the garden.”

They had to run the gauntlet of over interested dogs as they made their way to the back door, and Harry let Layla down before hand so she could decide whether or not she wanted to join them outside – she did not, which as soon as he got outside, Harry understood _intimately why_. It was bloody _freezing_.

He could literally see his breath misting in front of him.

The back garden was a nice fenced in little space full of planters full of vegetables and herbs, a chicken coop was at the back of the garden, and there was a tiny pattio space with a few wooden chairs under the kitchen window providing light. Cor sat down awkwardly in one of them, and Harry took the seat opposite as he dragged a hand through his short cut hair and scowled down at his boots with a constipated expression on his face.

They sat in silence for an entire minute before Harry figured that he just didn't know where to start, and asked: “What should I do as Kimya's bodyguard tomorrow?”

The ever so slight breath of relief let him know that it was probably the right thing to do before he was inundated with a slightly stiff lecture about appropriate behaviour. His job was to keep Kimya safe while allowing her to fulfil her role as 'Oracle Lite' for the Lucian people, Clarus would be their Team Lead as the Royal Shield, which was basically a bodyguarding position but one that was less focused on protecting their Royal and more on joining them in battle. Cor would be his immediate superior in this situation as Clarus would be operating more in his capacity as Lord Amacitia, meaning that he would be sticking with Regis for the majority of the event. Their job was to hang in the back, and keep a constant eye for trouble, constantly run risk assessments on their surroundings, who was drunk, who was high, who held something that could be an improvised weapon, who had an _actual_ weapon, who was approaching, who was leaving, who was in the corner, where are all the exit and entry points, who was grouping and where, is there suspicious activity anywhere, what is that activity, etc. There would also be multiple threat assessments they would have to carry out –

Cor scruffed a hand through his hair looking frustrated, “We're going to have to sneak out to explore the town tonight,” he explained in aggravation, “We need to get a lay of the land, figure out where all the entrances and exits are. Sniper nests, bolt-holes, and the like.”

Harry nodded, “They'll be doing patrols right now, and at midnight. Our best time would be around three, pre-dawn.” Cor stared at him and he shrugged, “I went to a boarding school.” He still looked confused. “We had some very dedicated pranksters and the teachers patrolled the castle corridors at all hours. Early hours pre-dawn was when they were at their least attentive.”

He nodded slowly, “That... makes sense.” And then he shook himself, and began to explain about what to do if a situation _did_ occur. Visually, they were already a deterrent to trouble, and with their constant risk and threat assessments they should detect trouble before it occurs, which then left them with the task of delaying it. They were to attempt to head the issue off before it got within a certain distance of their protectorate, and attempt to de-escalate the situation. No issuing threats, no throwing their weight around, no throwing out insults – Harry arched a pointed eyebrow at him and leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs and folding his arms.

He blushed up to the tips of his ears and pointedly avoided eye contact as he stressed the importance of not allowing heated emotions to get the better of him, fighting should always be a last resort. If things continue to escalate and you think violence is imminent, withdraw. Get Kimya and get out.

“Indeed,” Harry said casually, and Cor hunched up even more. He snorted, and then burst out laughing because _really_. “Is this before or after the brawl in the mud?” he cackled.

He flushed even darker, “Usually before,” he managed to choke out before jumping to his feet, “We should get some sleep while we can,” he declared stiffly and god _yes_ , Harry was not about to argue with getting some fucking sleep, not at all.

The back door opened, “Dinner time y'all!” Melba called, hanging out to grin at them.

After food. He would sleep after food.

 

* * *

 

The Aurum house was sizeable, and comfortable. But for the sheer number of people, it still ended up being cramped. Mid and Melba sacrificed their bed to Regis and Clarus, and slept in with Alba, Mid occupying the floor while his wife and sister in law occupied the bed with baby Carol. Cid and Weskham were slated to occupy the guest-room at Kimya's firm insistence – nothing any of them said could sway her and she settled their refusals by promptly settling herself on the couch and actually falling asleep then and there. Much to the amusement of Alba and Melba who were incredibly jealous of the secret ability the Auburnbrie woman cultivated specifically for pissing off her little sister. Which left Harry and Cor to find space on the floor.

And to get walked all over by the cat.

They woke at three in the morning to the quiet alarm of Harry's travel clock which he swiftly shut off before it woke Kimya. The two got up, dressed, and slipped out of the house to explore Keycatrich fully. Mapping out the streets, where the tallest houses were, pin-pointing blind corners, and outlining the largest open space in the village, the town square, where the 'party' was likely to be occurring.

They dodged a number of patrols, and then silently returned to the house, exchanging notes in the back garden that they had snuck out of, before heading back inside to get changed and in bed once more.

Kibble breath and a tongue dragged Harry back into the land of the living, a certain furry fiend attacking his face with foul breath and a slobbery tongue across his nose and face. He spluttered, and squawked in offence, shoving the dog away and shoving his face into his blankets as he was trampled by paws and wagging tails and curious _cold_ wet noses. He heard an unfamiliar laugh and managed to shove the dog away enough to spot Cor snickering at him, dressed in an unfamiliar suit, mug in hand.

Charlie slobbered on his chin again and Harry moaned in disgust, wiping his face and shoving the overly excited dog away.

He quickly retreated upstairs to go and wash his face and empty his bladder.

“I don't think I've ever known Cor to be so quiet! 'e always seems t'have an opinion on sum'thin',” Melba was saying through her slightly cracked door, making Cid snort.

“Ya saw th'kid with Lady Auburnbrie, right?” he asked, causing Harry to pause on the upstairs landing in front of the bathroom.

“Yeah. Cute lil' thing,” Mid commented, “What's sum'one like that doin' runnin' around with a gun like _that_? It's bigger than 'e is.”

“'e's a Hunter. An' a damn good one too. An' th'reason Cor can't string more'an three words t'gether inna sentence,” Cid cackled, “Completely stupid fer 'im.”

“I thought 'e 'ad that lil' thing fer th'Prince, though?” Melba's voice questioned, and Cid snickered.

“'e _did_. Until 'e met Harry. Or rather – until Harry left 'im eatin' dirt fer tryin'a muscle in on 'is hunt.”

Exclamations went up in the room and Harry swiftly retreated into the bathroom to sort himself out, blushing and uncomfortable. He quickly used the toilet and then ran the tap to wash his face of dog slobber. He had never been overly fond of dogs, what with Aunt Marge, but both Hagrid and Sirius had gone a long way towards changing his misgivings on the animals. He did not, however, appreciate their preferred method of waking him. Slobbery kisses and dog breath could be reserved for more _appreciative_ people.

He was not going to pay attention to what he had just overheard. He already _knew_ of the... possibility that Cor might be interested in him. Regis went on about it enough. And that kiss – he flushed once more and splashed his face with more cold water. Well, the signs were all there, message received and understood. That didn't mean he had to acknowledge it. So he wouldn't. He had no _obligation_ to do so.

Back downstairs, almost everyone was up and about, Weskham was cooking up a storm with help from Alba in the kitchen. Clarus had commandeered baby Carol and was cooing and making the most ridiculous kissy faces at her in utter delight as she frowned up at him in bewildered offence, gripping his finger like it had wronged her. Regis was dressed to the nines in a fresh suit and fussing over Cor who was rolling his eyes hard enough to hurt as he bore the primping with the patience of an irritated cat in his crisp black and silver edged suit. Harry couldn't hear what was being said, but it was apparently scathing if Regis' reactions were anything to go by.

It was as Weskham turned around to dish up that he was noticed, “Ah, Harry, wonderful timing. I have your suit here.” The Gryffindor flinched a little and looked over his shoulder, wondering if it was too late to bolt and hide in the truck. “Don't even think about it young man,” the Retainer warned him brightly, “I will chase you.”

“Pretty sure I can outrun you,” Harry informed him swiftly.

Weskham smiled, “Ah, yes, but for how long?”

...that... was a fair point.

He sighed and entered into the living room to go and collect the dust-jacket that the Retainer had picked up from where it had been hanging on the back of the kitchen door. Charlie bounced up and around his feet, sniffing eagerly at the interesting thing, and was unceremoniously caught by the retainer and tucked back up into the kitchen out of the way – where he couldn't get any fur on their nice clean clothes.

“Your boots are polished and waiting for you in the hallway as well,” the Retainer informed him as he waved him away, “Go and change and we'll see what we can do about your hair when you come down.”

Harry hated this already and he hadn't even put the damn thing on.

He turned away grumbling under his breath about how he missed hiding upstairs, not moving, or making noise, and pretending he didn't even exist like he used to do whenever important guests came over. Or having to stay with Mrs Figg for the day – he would take a hundred cabbage smelling houses and cats over this last month, no question.

He passed Cid in the hallway, the mechanic had cleaned up, looking completely different than before. “See Wesk got y'all a monkey suit in time,” the old man observed, “Need a hand? Reckon y'all've never worn anythin' like it.”

Harry shrugged a shoulder, “Can't be more complicated than Quidditch kit,” he admitted, “If I need help I'll call, thanks though.”

“Sure thing.”

Melba was occupying the bathroom to do her make-up, so Harry ducked into Alba's room to get changed, hanging up the dust-sheet and grimacing at what was revealed. A neat black suit with ever so slight gold detailing on the points of the lapels, a dark wine red shirt with more gold embroidery on the collar points, and a black tye. He dressed quickly, tucking his shirt in as well because that seemed to be the kind of event he was attending.

He looked completely alien in the mirror when he looked himself over. Yes, it was a _very_ nice suit, he wasn't going to deny that it managed to make him actually look somewhat presentable, but he would never be able to KEEP it nice though. Not scrunched up in his backpack, or rolled up under a waterproof tarp in the back of a truck.

Sighing for what felt like the tenth time that morning, he balled up his pjs and headed back downstairs to shove them in his backpack.

He didn't expect a Polaroid flash to go off as soon as he walked into the room.

“What.”

Clarus grinned wickedly as Weskham lowered the camera, “Gotta get proof that there's a respectable young man under those scruffy leathers,” he teased.

“I resemble that remark,” Harry complained idly, blinking flash spots from his eyes.

“Aw, ya look handsome, Catnip,” Kimya gushed excitedly, throwing her arms around him. He grimaced and patted her back amidst the snickering of everyone in the room.

“I look ridiculous, but alright,” he agreed.

“With that _hair_ , certainly,” Weskham agreed, merciless as always, even as he waved a comb and caught his shoulder before he could escape. “Glasses off.”

Sighing, _again_ , Harry pulled them carefully down and winced as the retainer began to comb his hair. “I can – do it myse- OW!”

There was a moment of silence, and Harry could see something complicated on both Clarus' and Regis' faces as they watched him, the two withdrawing into the kitchen to talk quietly. And despite Weskham's sudden burning need to question Cor on their security arrangements, he didn't quite do a good enough job of drowning the two in the kitchen out – or rather, the two in the kitchen were not as quiet as they could have been.

Apparently there was one hell of a resemblance, likely referring to Harry and someone else. Had _he_ even left the Crown City in the last twenty years? No, no he hadn't. He, meaning Regis, was in fact the first one to leave the city since his great grandfather raised the Wall. It could just be that, a resemblance. You don't really believe that, do you?

“No,” Regis admitted softly. “But what other course would you have me take?”

Tellingly, there was only silence from the kitchen until Weskham loudly pronounced him done, he could put his glasses back on.

If he ended up looking like Dudley on his school photograph day.....

No, he did not.

Worse.

He looked like Draco Malfoy back in first year.

As soon as Weskham turned his back, Harry ruffled his hair again in annoyance, dragged his glasses on, and escaped into the kitchen to get his breakfast.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting harder to write. I think my brain is trying to nudge me into a different fandom. That or depression and anxiety are kicking in after literally a MONTH without work and bills still happening. ><
> 
> Oh yes, and the bodyguarding information is taken from actual Close Protection Training manuals. There's a lot more to it, I've cut it down considerably.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Graphic gore and horror.

Thankfully, the party went off without a hitch.

It was considerably less fun to lurk at attention behind Kimya throughout it all, keeping an eye out for rouble, but at least no one bothered him. None of the adults anyway.

It seemed like every little boy between the age of six to twenty including several girls, wanted to get a better look at the Iron Assault, and talk to him about it. He actually lost count of the number of 'apologies, but I'm on duty, another time's he had been forced to utter. And apart from a _very_ ballsy six year old getting his sticky fingers onto the slider and the trigger, everything was fine and quiet. Kimya was asked to tend a handful of people, and Harry hovered as she fixed them up and joined them in prayer to the Astrals. Many of those prayers were to Bahamut, or Dragon Dick as Harry preferred.

The only trouble during the day came up on Regis' end: A drunk old man whose son went away to war – and never came home. And now here the Prince was, drinking champagne, eating finger sandwiches, instead of driving those dirty murderous Niffs from Lucis!

Both he and Kimya had been over by the statue of the Founder King where she was entertaining a large group of children by telling them the history of the first kind, disguised as a story. They heard the raised voices, but despite wanting to go, Harry stuck with Kimya as he had been told to – Regis had at least four people watching his ass, she only had him. They would be fine. And if not, then he sincerely doubted his jumping in would have done an awful lot.

It was just after the Mayor had given his speech and the food was brought out onto several huge buffet tables, that the phonecall came in to Clarus. The way he suddenly stopped and stood up straight drawing the attention of just about everyone in the Retinue, Harry and Kimya included.

“S'cuse us,” Kimya demurred to the married couple she had been chatting to over a plate of cheeses and fruit before quickly hurrying to join them, Harry in her wake. “What's up, ya look worried?” she asked as soon as she reached them.

“Crestholm Water Treatment has gone dark,” Clarus reported to them grimly, “They were working on expansion, next thing we know, people are screaming about daemons in the tunnels, and we haven't heard anything since.”

“We have t'help them!” Kimya gasped, hands flying to her mouth. “Where is Crestholm?”

“Less than a day away,” Weskham explained.

“Jest south o'Ostium Gorge,” Cid added, tugging the cap he had been wearing along with his suit off to scratch at his rusty gold-blond hair in aggressive dismay. “This 'ere is the closest settlement t'it. An' the army stationed 'ere _need_ t'stay.”

“So we'll go. Kimya and me. If it's daemons, we'll be fine,” he promised, looking over to her, seeing her nod determinedly.

“Hold your chocobos, Catnip,” Clarus scoffed, “We were called for a reason. With the army wrapped up in key locations, we're the only ones with the mobility to respond before the Imperials take advantage.”

Harry nodded slowly, “Well, we need to go to Ostium Gorge anyway, so count us in. We need to find out if there's a door there or not. Otherwise we're going to have a hell of a time in Taelpar Crag,” he explained with a wrinkled nose, and then caught Cor watching him from the corner of his eye over beside Regis and the Mayor.

Clarus grimaced, “Yeah, I don't envy you that one. Alright, we're heading for Crestholm a-sap. Get ready to go, as soon as we've rescued Regis from the Mayor we'll follow.”

“Right,” Kimya agreed, only to put a hand to her mouth, “Oh, I should say my own goodbyes, shouldn't I?” she muttered with a slight grimace.

The Gryffindor looked up at Clarus who nodded, “Alright. Catnip, go back and get your twos things. I'll stick with Lady Auburnbrie while she does her thing. Do what Wesk and Cid tell you, kid, they know what they're talkin' about.”

He nodded, “Got it.”

The trio fled back to Mid and Melba's house, setting the dogs into a cacophony of barking and noise as they rushed in. The two older men went upstairs to get the Retinue's belongings while Harry dove for Kimya's suitcase and dragged out an appropriate change of clothes before packing up her bedding and his, even rolling up Cor's while he was at it since it was _there_ , before rummaging a change of clothes out for himself. He was just dragging a t-shirt on when there was a crash into the doorframe and a snort of laughter from the hallway. He dragged it down and grabbed his leather jerkin, spotting Cor and Regis in the doorway, the former rubbing his shoulder with a scowl and a pink face while the latter was grinning in a slightly manic and strained way.

He pitched Cor's bedding at him, and he managed to catch it just as Kimya rushed in and nearly tripped over Layla in the doorway, the ginger feline beeping in outrage that they were ignoring her.

“Did ya – ” she gasped, and he pointed to the pile of clothing he pulled out for her. “Good lad!”

And off came her skirts.

Both Cor and Regis squawked and fled in alarm, straight up the stairs. Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes hard enough to hurt as he clipped his choker back on. He scooped up their things and left to go and stow them away in the truck and grab his holsters and other weapons from the back in the process. Water purification plant, huh? He was thinking something akin to an industrial factory, like in the movies, so it was unlikely he would have the space to wield the Iron Assault safely – best leave it in the car. And clip in his extra pouches and knives.

Kimya was tying her hair up when he came in for the next arm-load of their belongings, her combat gloves already firmly strapped on. Upstairs was a lot of thuds and muffled talking as everyone rushed around. He grabbed his discarded suit and shoved it into his bag, before grabbing the Iron Assault and heading back out. Kimya was on his heels with her dress in seconds, and the two of them had everything stowed and squared away ready in ten minutes.

The Retinue took a little longer, but they were out of the house in short order, pausing just long enough for Cid to bid his son and his wife goodbye as the two ran over, looking worried.

And then they were off, peeling away from the pleasant house and taking the ring-road through Keycatrich back to the gate where they were signed out without any fanfare and hit the road.

Harry frowned as they belted down the hot road, eyeing the multiple havens they passed. “Why are there so many havens in Leide, but not in Cleigne?” he asked curiously. It... seemed a bit unfair in all honesty? According to the map there were about _twelve_ havens here in Leide, from the Vennath Coast to Keycatrich and Ostium. Yet only _nine_ in the whole of Cleigne, the entire space on the western side of Taelpar Crag from Leirity Seaside to the Vesperpool. Only nine havens for a length of space twice that of Leide.

“Back in th'beginnin', when th'Founder King was young, th'nights were longer. Th'days were shorter. An' very few folk lived in Duscae, an' even fewer in Cleigne. Y'see, it's been two _thousand_ years since then. An' th'scars a'th'Astral War remain on Eos. Taelpar Crag, Ostium Gorge, th'Disc a'Cauthess, t'say nuthin' a'th'lands surroundin' Ravatogh where th'Infernian's body was laid t'rest. In th'beginnin', after he was first struck down, th'whole a'Cleigne an' Duscae _burned_. His power was that great, his rage so powerful, what few folk that survived fled Leide way. An' many more went north, t'Cavaugh, where th'Crown City now sits, where th'Founder King was born.

“It takes th'Oracle and th'King, and th'cooperation a'th'Messengers t'raise a haven. An' in th'early days, there were Messengers a plenty, and with th'days barely stretchin' t'five or six hours at a time, well, they were more ameniable t'makin' them back then. But as th'land recovered, as th'war against th'daemons continued, th'number a'Messengers dropped. Th'lines a'th'Oracle began t'dwindle.” She shrugged sadly as she followed the Regalia across vast open stretches of desert scrub-land. “Y'all'll find even fewer in th'likes a'Niflheim or Tenebrae, even though th'Oracles became Queens a'th'land. There's.... barely a handful a'Messengers left. Granny said ya could count 'em on one hand, with fingers t'spare. There used t'be twenty four a'them.”

That... would explain why the earth in those impact craters was more ash than earth, he thought as they drove. If the Infernian died and scorched all of Cleigne and Duscae, and then that Meteor came down, then yeah. It made sense. But damn, Eos must have had better luck than he ever did to survive two potentially apocalyptic incidents within the same bracket of time – or so the stories suggested.

That or it had incredibly bad luck for those incidents to happen at all.

He pulled out his magazines and began to renew the enchantments on them, they still had an hour and a half before they reached Crestholm, and he wanted to be ready.

It was mid-afternoon when they finally arrived, and both Harry and Kimya had reblessed all of their weapons and ammo, Harry as a few new cuts on his fingertips from where he had been etching slightly more powerful light runes into the bullets and bullet casings to give them some even extra punch since he had forgotten to get better handguns when Rudolph shoved the cannon into his arms.

Crestholm was behind a border check-point, and judging by the people milling around, it had been closed with the incident inside.

Several men in uniform hurried over to the Retinue as both he and Kimya jumped down, and joined them.

“We know there are survivors inside,” one of the men was saying, “Got a lad on radio. They're holed up in the upper-levels in a crawl space near to the generator controls. They don't know if there's anymore survivors. But none of them have responded in the last twenty minutes.”

Regis looked grim, “Show us the way in.”

“Yes, your Highness – erm, these two as well?” he asked, nodding to Harry and Kimya.

He nodded, “Yes. They are volunteers from the Meldacio Hunters who heard what was going on and offered their expertise in Daemon Slaying,” he explained, “Specialists.”

Kimya nodded, “If yer people are alive, we'll bring 'em out,” she promised with a firm nod.

The man looked doubtful, but nodded none the less, “Very well.”

He lead them towards a building to the right, and Harry frowned, hearing some of the men behind them muttering insults and how clearly the hunters didn't give that much of a damn if they were only willing to send a woman and a kid to help the Prince. He shot a glare at them over his shoulder but didn't bother correcting them. They were honestly complaining that _daemon hunting specialists_ happened to be a woman and a young man. Really? Ugh, some things apparently _didn't_ change between worlds, though that was a bit of an odd attitude actually.

It was the first one he had actually encountered so far.

In Cleigne, there didn't seem to be any disparity between genders. Men and women could do any job excepting the powerplant work, but that was a matter of radiation and health and safety. Sure there were more men in the hunters, but what women were there fought and partied just as hard, and he had yet to encounter anyone talking down about them. About any woman actually. He didn't even get any jib despite his age out there, sure people were surprised when they found out he was a _hunter_ at his age, but aside from concerned looks that quickly became impressed when they found out his rank, no one tried to stop him or look down on him for it.

Except the Retinue.

Hm... Was it a Crown City thing? He wondered, glancing over his shoulder at the other soldiers and the like who had clearly not come from Leide if the expressions of discomfort, the heavy dark clothing, and sweat on every face was an indication.

“Main access was destroyed when one of the larger daemons attempted to breech it. Secondary access is this maintenance shaft,” the commander explained, taking them down several steps to a small covered alcove. “I don't know what's down there, your Highness. Please be careful. Lucis can't afford to lose you.”

“You will not,” the Prince told him solemnly. “Please have a medical team on stand-by for any survivors. Keep the lights burning.”

“Your Highness. Go in the Grace of the Gods.”

The maintenance hatch, when they opened it, was pitch black.

Harry withdrew a flare from one of his pouches and struck it, “Budge over,” he requested, making the Retinue jump as if burnt when they saw the violently red fire in his hands. Which he then dropped down the shaft to the shrieking chorus of whatever was below.

“Cor?” Regis asked, looking over at him.

“Bussemand and Ereshkigal from the sound of it,” the swordsman theorised, squinting down into the darkness. “Clarus and myself go down first and create a pocket, Harry and Weskham after, Cid, Kimya, and Regis to follow. It's likely to be narrow in there so the same formation we used in Steyliff would work best. We'll reconsider further in if we need to.”

“Well, you heard the man,” Clarus declared, summoning his shield to hand and then physically jumping down the hole. Cor cursed and jumped after him.

“You oaf! Wait for the signal!”

Weskham huffed a small smile at him, “Shall we?” he asked before using the ladder, like a _reasonable_ person.

He appreciated the attempt at levity, but it was in poor taste, he decided as he swung himself onto the ladder as well. People were down there, dying, hiding, terrified, injured, who knew, they needed to get the _lead_ out of their legs and start moving quickly.

The band of Bussemand and Ereskigal were wiped out in short order and upon a second inspection, everyone was split into two teams. This was a rescue mission after all, they needed to cover as much ground as possible.

There was a bit of arguing on who went where. They had an odd number of people and Cor arranged them with long-mid-close ranges in mind – putting himself, Clarus, Weskham, and Regis in one team, and arranging Cid, Harry, and Kimya into another as both Harry and Cid could switch between close-mid-long at their discretion while Kimya had _only_ close range. Regis thought that too unbalanced, that there was significantly less combat power with the smaller group.

“All of our heavy hitters are in one team, Cor,” the Prince scolded, “Either yourself or Clarus need to go with Lady Auburnbrie's team to even it out. I _know_ you're under orders to prioritise my safety, but I must insist.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder, “Preferably the fastest of the two.” And at that point Cor winced because, he had _probably_ forgotten exactly how the two of them actually operated in a combat scenario when making his plans. Cid being mid-long range was a good choice for their team because it meant he could _afford_ to be a little slower than them when it came to combat. Clarus.... Clarus had _power_ , but he was a tank. Given time they could undoubtedly learn to work with and around him, use his differing fighting style to their advantage, but for now he would be a bad fit for them. Swapping Harry and Weskham over wasn't the best idea really, Harry hadn't had much in the way of time to train with Regis' particular style of combat and would be more of a hazard as a gunner on their team because of it. Weskham had been training to be the Prince's support since he learned proper bladder control.

“Fine. I'll – I'll go with Lady Auburnbrie,” the teenager grimaced, giving his Prince a particularly bitchy expression of concern.

Harry nodded shortly, “Great. Let's go, I hear movement up there,” he informed them, pointing to the tunnel leading to the right.

They split up, Kimya's group heading to the right, Regis' group heading to the left – not that they got very far because apparently in that direction was a dead end. For the record, Harry hated Crestholm, it was an absolute _rat warren_ of tunnels, and passages. Daemons jumped out from almost every corner and they put the whole lot of them down with prejudice when they encountered them – there was one funny moment though, an ereshkigal attempted to pounce on Cor from behind only to have its head snatched by Kimya. Cor turned around just in time to witness her crush its skull in her fist and pale three shades at the kindly smile she gave him.

Then she kicked a bussemand into the wall hard enough to crack the concrete.

Their group continued through the upper chambers, combing every room and tunnel they found for survivors – they did find one. An engineer in bloodied overalls curled up in a tiny crawl-space beneath a mesh grate. He had been part of a group of five, but the daemons managed to get into the room, he had been punched to a lower level and crawled in there. He heard everything. The daemons left no one alive. Just scraps of clothing and blood splatters.

Kimya tugged one of her waterbottles out and began to pour it over his wounds. “Harry.”

“I know,” he grunted, checking his pouches and cursing. Damn, he forgot it. “Either of you two have any rope?” he asked, looking at Cid and Cor.

“Yeah,” Cid agreed, calling it to hand in a crackle of blue-white light. “What ya plannin' to do?” he demanded as Harry took the rope and began to rearrange where his pouches and holsters were situated.

“This _is_ a rescue. There could be more people and every second counts.” He knelt down in front of the guy and Kimya manoeuvred him onto his back, taking the rope from him and physically _lashing_ the man to Harry's back and waist. Good thing the guy wasn't exactly huge. He got to his feet and grimaced in discomfort, he was going to have some nasty bruises on his hips, chest, and shoulders, but it was better than not having his hands free for the return trip. “You guys stay with Kimya while I get this guy topside. We killed every daemon from here to there, I should be fine. I'll catch up once he's in medical.”

“Ya sure?” Cid gruffed.

Harry nodded and drew his quicksilvers again now that the guy was positioned properly. He checked the magazines, sixteen in one, eight in the other. “I'm sure I can manage,” he promised.

And if not, he could always call Prongs.

 

* * *

 

Climbing up to the hatch with the guy was a fucking _trial_ and a half. Good thing Harry had somewhat gotten used to the weight of the Iron Assault because he highly doubted he would have had the upper body strength to get up where with dead weight like that dragging him down. Commander Asshole was shocked to see him actually bringing a survivor out on his own, but got medical over quickly enough. As soon as he was freed from the rope, Harry was coiling it back up and shoving it into one of his pouches and turning back to the tunnel.

“Hold your chocobos, kid. Where're you going?” Commander Asshole demanded.

Harry frowned at him, “Back down. We haven't finished searching the facility.” If his, ugh, if his _accent_ took the man by surprise he didn't react beyond a slight widening of his eyes.

“Alone?” he demanded with a frown and Harry scoffed.

“It's got daemons, yes. But it's hardly a _nest_ ,” he dismissed before climbing back down without waiting for permission that he didn't need. He bet Cor didn't have to deal with this bullshit – then again, wasn't he a Staff Sargeant? Guess there was some kind of markings on his uniform to say such because Harry hadn't even seen anyone give him a doubtful side-eye yet.

A tiny handful of daemons had scarpered up from the deeper tunnels in the time he had been away if the places they had grouped at were any indication, he dealt with them swiftly enough. Even slapping one of them out of existence with Kimya's preferred technique. He wouldn't be doing it often, it.... it was hard channelling magic into his hands like that, at least quickly. He would need more practice.

“ _Hey. Clem,_ ” he prompted, touching the hard leather pouch on his chest that he had tucked her into, “ _Can you smell any other flatfaces near-by?_ ” he asked. He hadn't been able to do so in front of Cid or Cor, but while separated, he knew he could make a lot more progress alone than in a group using her aid.

She directed him through a few more tunnels where he found a woman in a boilersuit, completely unconscious, tucked up amidst piping and too far out of reach for a daemon to reach. She didn't respond at all when he called to her, or even touched her leg. It took half an hour of careful shifting but he managed to wriggle her out from the pipes and then get her onto his back before he headed back to the ladder – and this time there were people there. Five soldiers with guns greeted him when he turned the corner, and were quick to help him get the woman strapped into a stretcher and topside to medical.

They offered to escort him but he refused, he couldn't very well talk to Clementine with these people around.

He turned and headed back in.

She couldn't detect any other warm flatfaces near-by, but knowing that shock could lower body temperatures he had her direct him to the scents anyway. He found what was unequivocably a massacre of ten people crammed into the same boiler room. He had to run out and vomit, oh god, he – he had never seen anything like that. It was _horrific._ It.... it took a few minutes before he could even look at the room without feeling his stomach rebel, but eventually he was able to go inside, propelled by the thought that someone might have survived and they might need help _right now._ So he checked who he could, the ones that _might_ have survived, but there was no one in there. So he closed the door behind him, shaking hard, his breath shuddering as he tasted bile again. He didn't even realise he was crying until the tears dripped onto his glasses, blotting his vision in a way that he couldn't blink away.

He wiped his eyes and croaked at Clem to take him to the next one.

He found three piles of clothes and bloodstains, a man that had been ripped in half, his innards linking his torso to his legs like a pile of wet red silly-string. Harry might have vomited again, if he had anything left to vomit. In truth, all he could do was close his eyes and walk away. Next was something that wasn't even identifiable as human – just.... some kind of pulverised bag of meat and blood. Poor bastard must have been caught in the middle of a gang of bussemand. He'd heard horror stories at Meldacio about what they did in groups to lone hunters.

And then Clem lead him straight to Kimya, Cor, and Cid as the only other warm things there.

“Catnip!” Kimya exclaimed, rushing over and hugging him, “When ya didn' come back – ”

“Sorry. I found a lady stuck behind some pipes on my way back in,” he explained with a grimace, “And uh,” he shuddered in her arms, “I found some other people. They – they weren't so lucky,” he croaked.

“Oh Catnip...” Her arms tightened for a moment before Harry took a step back before he actually broke down.

“We should keep looking.”

 

* * *

 

They didn't find any more survivors, eventually they rejoined Regis and his team in the lower levels, and then... at the end of it all, with Clem's nose to guide them, they found the source of it all.

A broken wall with an empty cavity behind it, and a _door_.

It _reeked_ of daemon miasma.

“Did it open?” Regis asked, worried, summoning his sword to hand.

Kimya shook her head, “No. Still sealed up tight,” she assured him as she stepped forward, and hovered a hand over the metal, “But it's hard drained. Almost as bad as Steyliff. Imma gunna need one'a those fancy drinks, if y'all have any left?”

Regis nodded, “Of course.”

She nodded and then pooled her magic into her hands.

Harry sat down heavily on the ground, rubbing his face as she fed her magic into the door until she could barely see straight, and Regis was forced to give her an ether. It didn't do an awful lot for her, but she sat back for a moment, explaining that she would need to feed it a few more times before it was safe to be left to its own devices for a while.

He was tired.

There was a crunch of dirt beside him, and he cracked his eyes open to see Cor sit down beside him, sword up against his shoulder. He didn't say anything, or even look at him so... Harry closed his eyes again and rested his head on his knees.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point in time, the only HUMAN death Harry has witnessed is Cedric Diggory. He didn't actually find Sahara Junon's corpse, just her tags so -- this is his first actual exposure to what daemons do to unarmed defenceless humans. It's... traumatising to say the least. He's physically and emotionally drained rn. Poor bby.
> 
> Also, guys, when I say I might move to a different fandom, that doesn't mean the fic is abandoned, it just means I'll be writing in a different fandom until I cycle back or this particular plotbunny decides it wants attention and wants it NOW.


	18. Chapter 18

Night had long since fallen when they got out, the whole area was bathed in flood-lights, generators thumping and chugging, voices shouting across from tents and vehicles as soldiers rushed from point to point. Harry stayed out of the way, sat on the end of the flatbed with his knees drawn up as he watched the people from the Crownsguard move around, sending in clean-up crews and new engineers with escorts into the Channels to deal with the bodies and get the power working again. He had put Kimya to bed in the front seat, he doubted even Dragon Dick himself landing on the street could wake her right now, that door had been pretty well shagged by the time they reached it. Regis blew through his entire ether collection feeding them to Kimya so she could supply the door with power, and even then it had only _just_ been enough. She had been rubber-limbed and weak, nearly falling from ladders and pipes during some of their more risky moments to the point where Harry had been about to tie her to his back when Regis took matters into his hands – Kimya in one arm, and then warped to where they needed to go. Useful.

Harry really wished he had at least read up on the theory of apparation before ending up here. Ahh, but splinching... he would rather not. Not without an Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to put him back into one piece afterwards.

He shifted aside a little to make room as he saw Cor approaching from a group of soldiers, “You alright?” he asked quietly, sitting next to him.

Harry grimaced into his knees, “No.”

There was a moment of silence, “...First time seeing someone dead?” he asked almost gently.

He shook his head, “No. Just... the first _massacre_ I've ever seen.” Avada Kedavra, wizards thought that was the _worst_ spell in existence. Harry.... thought it just might be one of the kindest now. A quick and painless death. Yes it was completely unblockable but – it was better than what had happened _down there_. It was.... it left no marks. If it weren't for your still open eyes.... it would be as if you were sleeping.

He dragged a hand through his hair, feeling sick again.

“The two people you found will live,” the teenager told him, and Harry did feel a small sting of relief. “The lady is awake. She was one of the people at ground zero.” He looked over at him, “They were looking to expand by boring another reservoir so they were taking soil samples and doing sonic imaging of the surroundings when they saw an empty cavity less than a metre away. As soon as one of the guys knocked on it, the whole wall caved in and a bunch of daemons crawled out. She said she thinks they got trapped in there during a landslide or something.”

So the door didn't break, or leak. That was something at least.

“As long as they keep the armed guards for the next few weeks to ensure nothing else forms up, they should be fine then,” Harry muttered, drawing his knees up a little tighter as he shivered. If only the same thing could be said about the families of all those poor people. Harry was going to be seeing that in his sleep for sure. Good thing he'd gotten used to keeping his nightmares silent these days, he didn't think the Retinue would take it with the same good humour that Dave occasionally did when Harry woke him begging his father to save Cedric before he was killed in his sleep. God only knew what would come out of his mouth after this if he hadn't.

Something heavy and warm was dropped over his head and shoulders, Cor's jacket. He frowned at the other teenager who wasn't even looking at him, arms folded once more, and watching the other Retinue members with the Crownsguard. Harry wanted to protest, that he wasn't a girl, but... he was tired. He was tired and miserable and heartsick, and he wanted to go home where people weren't ripped apart by monsters in the night.

He drew the jacket a little more tightly around him and ducked his head into his knees again.

He wanted to go home.

 

* * *

 

“How are they?” Regis's voice.... exhausted, scratchy and dull, but concerned.

“Lady Auburnbrie's been sleeping since we left in the front seat,” Cor's voice, quieter. “Harry is... not good.” Understatement. “I told you we shouldn't bring them with us. She's too valuable, and he's a civilian. Neither of them should be anywhere near this sort of situation,” he hissed disapprovingly.

“They volunteered, Shortstack,” Clarus sighed, sounding just as scratchy and exhausted as Regis, voice rumbling almost incoherently. “Mores the point, they're damn good at what they do. I don't think things would have gone half as well as they did today without them,” he pointed out gruffly.

There was a furious noise from Cor before Regis cut him off, “I understand your concerns, Cor, you made them abundantly clear after Lestallum. However, what would you have me do? Turn away perfectly willing and capable help for the risk it puts them into? The same risk that I would take you, and anyone else in this Retinue into? The same risk I demand from my Crownsguard?” There was a sigh. “Would that I could, both of them would be back in Meldacio, but that is no longer an option. And I would feel much more assured of their well being on their quest to repower these Doors if we accompanied them.”

“Changed yer tune there, Reggie,” Cid pointed out curiously.

“Yes.” Regis agreed slowly, grimly. “That was before I witnessed what a poorly tended door could very well do to my people were they unaware of it. A hundred and thirty people worked within this treatment facility, and we found only two survivors.... And these were simply _old_ daemons. They were not from some broken door, just.... trapped in front of one. I shudder to think of what may have been unleashed so close to Insomnia had it truly opened.”

There was a long grim silence, almost enough to lull Harry back into sleep before –

“The Crownsguard are packing up to leave. We should head for the haven,” Weskham informed them softly, “Cor, if you could wake Harry, Regis, Lady Auburnbrie, I will fetch their things if you and Cid would please begin setting up camp at Brackham?”

“Alright,” Clarus agreed, and a moment later Harry felt a hand on his boot shake him.

He grimaced, squinting his eyes open against the harsh glare of the flood lights as he lifted his head. He hadn't even felt himself nod off, but he had ended up curled up on his side in the flatbed, using his arm as a pillow. He sat up slowly, and squinted at the group of men hovering around the truck in tired mute apathy.

“We're moving to Brackham haven, Harry,” Weskham informed him kindly even as he reached over the edge of the truck to whisk their tent into his magic pocket, closely followed by their bag of bedding, his backpack, and Kimya's suitcase. The Gryffindor craned his head over and saw Regis carrying Kimya, bedding and all, bridal style in his arms – she had apparently refused to wake.

“'kay,” he muttered dully, and then dragged out the Elder Coeurl fur from its bag. Camping in Duscae when it was raining was cold, he didn't want to know what camping in a desert was going to be like, but he remembered enough from his Junior School science class to know that if there was nothing to keep the heat out, then there would be nothing to keep the cold out. He returned Cor's jacket to him with a muttered thanks, and followed both him and Weskham away from the road and towards the distant glowing platform of the near-by haven.

Nothing spawned on their trip, and they got up the short incline easily enough. Clarus and Cid had already set up the Retinue's much larger tent, and were working on pitching the smaller one belonging to them. Both Harry's backpack and Kimya's suitcase were set neatly to one side, which answered the question of whether or not everything in their magic pocket could be shared between them. It was just the one pocket that they all had access to. Regis was getting a campfire going while Kimya slept on, wrapped tightly in her blankets, only a few paces away.

Harry dropped the fur over her and went to help with pitching the tent, only to have Weskham gently steer him away.

“Let them. Once Clarus starts, he has a system and gets awfully grumpy when it is deviated from. Would you help me with dinner?” he asked as he summoned the by now familiar camping stove and table. “Just a little something, quick and easy. We're all tired but after today, we _should_ eat.”

Thick cream of tomato soup was quickly heated up, along with thick slices of fluffy white crusty bread.

Conversation was sparse, everyone was too exhausted to do much more than inhale their meals, clean them, and then crawl into bed.

Harry huddled up close to Kimya, dragging both blankets and fur around them both, and with his face buried in his pillow, actually let himself cry. In his experience, tears had never helped, they just made things worse because Uncle Vernon hated seeing them coming from him. But Hermione told him it was healthy, that it was normal, that tears happened when you felt too much for your body to contain. And Cho showed him that it was alright to cry, that when you were sad you shouldn't be ashamed of showing it, of allowing it to flow, and wash the hurt away.

So, where no one could see, and no one could hear, he let himself cry.

And slept without dreams.

 

* * *

 

Kimya woke up cheerful and energised the next morning. Harry.... could not say the same, but he hadn't suffered any nightmares so he forced a smile for her and pretended that he was fine even as he sat quietly, stroking Clementine's head while Weskham cooked breakfast – the retainer already being halfway through by the time Harry surfaced from his bed, sweating hot and uncomfortable as the Leide sun practically cooked the inside of the tent.

Regis had taken Clarus and Cor down to the fishing hole to catch some good fish to eat, while Cid was baking himself in a sunlounger, and Kimya was happily following the mechanic's example with great relish.

Harry.... gave thought to translating the notes he took of the last door. During one of Kimya's rest periods he dragged himself up and copied it down, saying that he never wanted to come back so he should get it over and done with now so he wouldn't have to. But just the thought of trying to concentrate on anything right now was pointless. He felt listless, and grey.

He missed Ron and Hermione. He missed Sirius. And Remus.

“Ya alright, Catnip?” Kimya asked gently, leaning over and stroking his hair as Regis returned triumphantly hefting a large pretty gold and black fish overhead.

Harry nodded, “Homesick,” he admitted as Weskham happily accepted the additions to his breakfast menu.

“Y'all been missin' fer three months now, ain't'cha?” Cid questioned from his lounger as Kimya continued to run her fingers through his hair until he began to lean into it. “Yer parents must be sick with worry.”

The Gryffindor shrugged, “They're dead. Sirius'll keep looking though,” he explained, absolutely certain. His godfather made mistakes, it was what got him thrown in Azkaban, but Harry could never say that Sirius did not put him first – Hagrid said as much in his third year that Sirius had shown up barely moments after Hagrid had pulled Harry from the wreckage of the house. That Sirius had demanded he be given his godson only to be denied on Dumbledore's orders. He even gave Hagrid his motorbike just so that it would be safer transporting him to where-ever it was that Dumbledore wanted Harry to be taken. Only _then_ , once certain of Harry's safety and care, did he go after Peter Pettigrew. And the second he got a whiff of Harry in danger, he broke out of what he believed was his deserved punishment for letting his bestfriend and wife die, and came immediately to Harry at Privet Drive, to check on him, to see if he was alright, before going after Pettigrew again. Sirius almost blew his cover multiple times just to try and _be_ there for him. He lived in a cave eating _rats_ for who knew how long just so he could be close by _just in case_.

Being in another world would slow him down for a while, but he had been one of the minds behind the Marauder's Map and achieved an Animagus transformation in his fifth year. With Remus, Hermione, and Dumbledore helping him, because he would _hound_ them (no pun intended) until they did, Harry knew Sirius would manage it eventually.

Unless.... Unless he followed Harry to the Ministry and got arrested, or killed, or Kissed.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling sick to the bottom of his stomach. He almost vomited when Weskham presented him with a cooked breakfast complete with lightly battered pan fried fish fillets.

“Your parents are dead?” Regis asked, sounding horror struck from his seat, only just cluing into the conversation as Weskham held his plate out – the Prince didn't even notice. Both he and Clarus looked horrified, their minds no doubt flashing back to the many times they had made comments _to his face_ about said parents.

Harry shrugged, “Yeah,” he admitted stiffly, not looking up as he focused on cutting his food up so he could eat it.

“I am sorry for your loss,” the Prince said quietly, sounding genuinely upset. More upset than the Gryffindor had ever been actually.

“I never knew them. Don't worry about it,” Harry said awkwardly.

“So, you were raised by your Godfather, Sirius wasn't it?” Weskham asked, changing the subject as he finally got Regis to accept his plate.

The fifteen year old rubbed the back of his neck, “No. I was raised by my mum's sister and her husband. Sirius was.... not allowed to visit.” That was probably the nicest way he could put it. “It's complicated.”

“Well, what does the guy look like? If we see him we can point him your way,” Clarus said with a grin, waving his fork around.

Harry hummed, “Late thirties but he looks a bit older to be honest.... Dark hair, grey eyes.....” He looked them over, “He actually looks like Regis if, y'know, he spent the last twelve years in prison and only slept for like three days during the whole time.” Not the most flattering description of Sirius, but probably the most accurate. “He might have a beard. It depends on whether Remus or Tonks managed to wrestle him into a tub.” And how long ago that might be.

Clarus exchanged looks with the rest of the Retinue, “Uh... Sure... Does – does he _often_ need someone to uh – ”

He looked up slowly, and arched an eyebrow. Watching the Shield flounder for a moment trying to choose his words carefully, sensing that he was on thin ice. For some reason, he looked beseechingly at Cor of all people who, upon seeing the look, quickly shovelled a fork-load of his breakfast into his mouth and looked away. Cid cackled and slapped his knee gleefully while Regis coughed into his hand looking _thoroughly_ entertained, Weskham only shook his head and sighed, while Kimya blinked and smiled benignly when Clarus looked at her next. She didn't say anything either, and the man visibly began to sweat under his stare. Harry took pity on the man, eventually, he did kind of invite it with that explanation.

“No. But he forgets to take care of himself, sometimes, when he gets upset.” He also starts drinking a lot, but Harry wasn't going to be telling them that because Sirius liked to pretend that Harry hadn't noticed – sadly, he had, because he needed to. It was always better for his health when he knew whether or not Uncle Vernon had been at a bottle.

“You think he's gunna be that upset?” the Shield asked thoughtlessly, and then immediately winced when every head except Harry's snapped over to him. “I didn't mea- ”

Harry snorted and started laughing, cutting him off and taking all of them by surprise.

If there was one person in his life he wasn't going to doubt the affection and care of, it was Sirius.

He shook his head and got to his feet, he opened his mouth to say something only to close it, snort, and hop off the edge of the haven. “You'll understand some day!” he called over his shoulder, shoving his hands into his pockets. When he had his own kids, he'd understand.

He snorted again as he heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh, Clarus yelping, and then, “Okay I deserved that.”

There were still people milling around outside Crestholm, and he received several suspicious scowls from them as he approached. One of them moved as if to intercept him, only to have two relief workers from the previous evening practically dogpile him and yank him away, one nodded respectfully to Harry as he passed while the other whispered furiously in the ear of the man in black who eyed him resentfully. Who shit in his breakfast?

He hopped into the flatbed to organise everything back into place ready to stow their camping gear later.

“Staff Sargent!”

Harry sat up and snickered a little as all the men in black (hah) suddenly converged on Cor as he made his way down the road towards the Regalia. The fifteen year old's face didn't outwardly change, but Harry could see the shadow of a grimace on his face as he was saluted at, as men twice his age started giving him reports, and then one of them pointed at him with an aggravated look on his face. Harry arched an eyebrow in amusement, propping his chin up on his elbow on the edge of the truck to watch the fifteen year old's expression go stormy as he snapped something at the other man. Everyone around him were suddenly straightening up with military precision. There was a chorus of unintelligible words from them as they saluted and then quickly rushed off back to their duties.

He snorted as he came over, “I wonder if they would be so quick to hop to if they'd seen how much of a brat you could be?” he asked playfully.

Blue eyes narrowed on him before he smirked thinly, “They will never find out.”

“You sure about that?” Harry asked cheerfully, “What's stopping me from going over and telling them aaall about it?”

“One, they'd never believe you. And two, I will tell Regis you want to know all about fish,” he threatened. “And he won't shut up for at _least_ eight hours. And he will _follow_ you.”

“Oh no, truly a fate worse than death,” he lamented sarcastically before snickering. “How badly did Weskham read him the riot act?” he asked, referring to Clarus as he pushed himself upright and repositioned Kimya's larger suitcase that had all of her apothecary stuff inside.

“Riot act?” Cor asked, confused.

“Oh. I guess that isn't a saying here, huh? Uh, it's a piece of Law from back home. Basically boils down to how badly did Weskham tell him off,” he explained as he wedged the suitcase at the very back of the truck along with the meat-cooler, and the storage box that he had his leathers in.

Cor didn't snort, but his mouth twisted suspiciously in what might have been a split second grin, or pain, “He was still talking when I left,” he admitted, before looking at him seriously enough that Harry paused and tilted his head. “How are you doing, really?” he asked quietly.

Ah.

Yesterday. Right. He had been trying to forget about that.

He looked away and snatched the tarp that had been unceremoniously scrunched into a corner of the flatbed yesterday when he and Kimya had been shoving everything onto the truck so they could get to Crestholm faster. “I'm... Dealing,” he stated shortly, flicking it out properly and beginning to fold it. “Not well. But I'll manage. I've managed everything else so far, what's one more,” he muttered tiredly, his hands stilling on the blue plastic before looking up. “What about you? And don't say you're used to it,” he snapped, pointing a finger at him with narrowed eyes when he opened his mouth. “You went three shades paler on our way out when you saw that man.” The one that had been torn in half.

Cor gave him a side-look, one part indulgent, one part exasperated, “I wasn't going to.” He leaned his back against the side of the truck, folding his arms and staring up at the sky for a moment. “I've never seen a daemon attack on civilians before,” he admitted, “Every time it's been when I was serving in the army. There were deaths, of course there were. But nothing like that. We always gave as good as we got. Most deaths were quick, almost clinical. Head-wounds, bleed outs, chest wounds, magic. Someone might lose a limb and die of shock, but it was rare.” His cheek twitched, and he frowned, “I'm angry,” he admitted after a moment.

“Angry?” Harry echoed, surprised.

He nodded. “I signed up for the army because my family were refugees. I wanted to protect people like us, forced to run from the Empire. So I took my grandfather's sword, and I went into a recruitment office. I've always been tall, so I lied about my age on my paperwork. They didn't look very hard. Just made sure I met minimum height and weight requirements before giving me a bunk number and a uniform.” He shrugged, “Officially, I'm not part of Regis' Retinue. I was scouted out of the army by his father, King Mors, to act as his personal bodyguard. But because I served on the front lines out here, when Regis had to go on his Pilgrimage, his Majesty asked me to accompany him. Cid had never been outside of Leide, and neither Clarus or Weskham have left Insomnia before now.”

“Huh...” Harry trailed off before looking at Crestholm thoughtfully. Just what did his army career look like if the King took enough notice of him to make him his bodyguard, and then send him off with his son while being hunted by the country you were at war with? “You didn't get in trouble when they found out?” he asked, worried.

“King Mors had my records amended before I left to put my correct date of birth down. They listed me as a specialist recruit, to make deployment outside the Wall legal,” he explained with another shrug.

“Geez,” Harry muttered, “Media would be going absolutely feral over this back home. Child soldiers illegally sent to war, Royal Family fudging the Records, What Else Are They Hiding?” he declared dramatically, spreading a hand out in front of him in an invisible headline.

Cor snorted, tipping his head back to smirk at him, “All Crownsguard records are sealed during a time of War. Pretty sure most of mine is blacked out by this point too.” Was he bragging? He was. Smug looked good on him.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned away before he could blush and giveaway the direction his thoughts took a sudden U-turn for. Hormones could literally fuck off, he decided grumpily as he tucked the tarp away, and dragged out the cords he used to secure it in order to lash their bags and boxes in place where they wouldn't go sliding around everywhere.

Cor suddenly shoved himself away from the truck, “Something's wrong.”

Harry glanced at him, and then stood up, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun to see the entire Retinue, Kimya included, sprinting towards them – the camp had been entirely packed away, no sign of it remaining on the haven. None of them were carrying bags either, so they'd packed in a hurry – a _big_ hurry.

He jumped out of the flatbed. “What's going on?” he called as soon as they were close enough.

“Imperial attack on Balouve Mines!” Clarus barked. “Get in the car!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TA'DAH - A REASONABLE (I hope) EXPLANATION FOR WHY THERE IS A FIFTEEN YEAR OLD IN THE ARMY AND A BODYGUARD TO ROYALTY!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Graphic depictions of gore, death, and violence.   
> WARNING: Moral quandaries and severe internal conflict.

“Why are they attacking a _mine?_ ” Harry yelped, gripping his seatbelt and the dashboard as they raced after the Retinue in their Regalia. The truck bounced and rocked alarmingly beneath them as they tore down the dirt road up into the Callaegh Steps, overheard he could already see airships, there was smoke in the distance, and he could see people in the distance, _hear_ gun fire and screaming.

“Tryin' a'cut off th'supply routes!” Kimya shouted, strained and stressed as she beeped her horn to get the fleeing people out of her way. “Ugh! Park it up, Catnip! We're goin' in on foot!” she commanded, killing the engine and booting the door open. They hadn't even gotten past the haven on this route.

Trepidation sank deep into his stomach as he swung himself out and then climbed into the flatbed to grab the Iron Assault. From his higher view, he could see the Regalia hadn't gone much further than they had, the Retinue were rushing forward through the throngs of fleeing filthy men and women.

An airship open fire on the mountain and created a rockslide, the ground shaking violently.

They needed to go down.

He loaded the heaviest ordinance he had, one of the giant Wyvernfire rounds he had inscribed with the runes for a Reductor curse. He had gotten lucky at Daurell and been able to buy some extra ingredients to make the heftier rounds. Good thing he had he decided as he snapped the cannon open, and shoved the three inch thick shot into its slot. He had to use his leg to get the behemoth gun to snap shut again, but he managed it, ignoring Kimya's shout of his name from further ahead as he wrenched the slide back with all his strength, closed the vents, and swung the whole thing up, taking aim.

He probably shouldn't do this in the truck, he realised in the split second he squeezed the trigger.

The Iron Assault **roared**.

The kickback _nearly_ took him off his feet, he had braced for it, he had _expected_ it. He was still nearly blasted off the back of the truck. Every window exploded, shattering from the force of it, the alarm _shrilled_ , men and women around him screamed and were staggered. His ears were ruined, he couldn't hear a damn thing, his drums were probably burst.

It _hurt_.

But the sky lit up with fire and fury, and the airship _exploded_.

He popped it open again, twisting his head out of the way as the scorching hot casing was ejected, spinning past his head close enough that he could _feel_ the heat of it as it whizzed past, smell the burning chemical and blackened shell. He loaded another round in with shaking hands.

There were two more ships, and he had three more Wyvernfire rounds with Reducto's on them.

This time, he swung out of the truck – before he burst the tyres or something.

Only he crumpled as soon as he hit the ground, the world swam and his whole body just – folded over the Iron Assault like a wet noodle, what?

“Earplugs,” he felt himself mutter, felt himself say in his chest, ears hot and wet and itchy and _painpainpainpain_. “Definitely earplugs.”

He used the truck to help him back to his feet and hauled the Iron Assault around again, baring his teeth when he saw one of the airships turning towards him, someone had obviously spotted him open fire on the other ship. Sucked to be them, because now they were the next target.

He wrenched the slide back again, it came easier this time, but his hand _burned_ in a way that told him it was going to be sore for days. He aimed, braced, and fired.

This time he was thrown onto his ass. Several people around him were knocked off their feet, screaming, swearing, a man near to him was clutching his ears and staggering, no blood though. The second ship went up like Guy Fawkes Night, and listed to the side, crashing into the first one. The two exploded white, red, and crashed into cliffside, sliding down to who knew where, the haven was in the way, Harry couldn't see where they finally came to a rest, just the plumes of smoke in their wake. The third ship turned towards him.

It took more effort than he would have liked to push himself back to his feet – but he didn't do it alone.

A nearby woman, filthy in overalls, her freckles face twisted with pain and terror scrambled to her feet and helped him up. She was shouting something but he couldn't hear a damn word as she hauled him up under his arms, he nodded his thanks to her as he hauled the Iron Assault up and ejected the empty casing. The chamber was smoking and he grimaced to see it. He swallowed and loaded the next Wyvernfire. Hopefully it would be the last of this fight – he didn't think the single-shot chamber could handle another one without time to cool.

The woman saw him slam the third shot in and snap the rifle shut, she shifted behind him and planted her back firmly to his, and put her hands over her ears – was she.... bracing him?

Heh, the people here were pretty incredible, huh?

He grinned and pulled the slide back, hauling the cannon back up, and felt the muscles in her back tighten as he braced himself as well.

The airship suddenly tried to turn away – but it was basically a flying brick. It didn't have the manoeuvrability.

And he didn't give it a chance.

The third shot roared out, and it was only by the grace of the woman behind him that he wasn't thrown off his feet again, though they both ended up staggering.

The third and final ship took the shot on its side, the explosion tearing a massive hole in the side and throwing it into the cliff-side up ahead where it crashed and then rolled down to join the other two where-ever they may be, billowing black clouds of smoke.

But he could still see explosions up ahead, still feel them through the soles of his boots.

He snapped the cannon open, ejected the smoking shell, closed it back up without loading another shell, and opened the vents to help it cool. The woman behind him was jumping and pumping her fist in fierce, furious, approval as she roared down at the fallen ships below. She grinned at him, all teeth and anger. They high fived, and Harry pointed her down the hill to Longwythe, where everyone was fleeing, and she nodded, clapping him on the shoulder.

She mouthed her words carefully so he couldn't misunderstand, “ _WHAT'S YOUR NAME?_ ”

“Harry. Harry Potter.”

“ _I WILL REMEMBER YOU, HARRY POTTER. THANK YOU._ ” And with a thumbs up and a wink, she ran to the nearest staggering person, pulled their arm over her shoulder, and hustled them down the hill.

He shouldered the Iron Assault and.... _tried_ to run to where he last saw Kimya – only to end up staggering in the wrong direction. He stopped and tried to go forward again, and ended up tottering forward but to the left and nearly going face first into the dirt. Fuck, his balance was _fucked_. Like after he took a dive too fast at Quidditch Practice he could barely stop himself from falling on his face. Shit.

One step at a time.

Kimya was suddenly there, dodging through the thinning crowd of people as they ran past, her eyes widened in horror at the blood running down from the side of his head. She pulled his arm over her shoulders to guide him, and the two hurried through the crowds to where the Retinue were giving a cluster of people at the foot of the haven quick medical aid before they were being sent off. Kimya hustled him over and Harry staggered drunkenly after her, incapable of hearing anything that was being said even as Regis slapped Cor upside the head from where he was staring down at the wrecked airships below and then pointed to Harry when he had the teenager's attention.

A moment later, the teenager was on his other side, reaching out. He hesitated a moment, eyeing him as if asking for permission, Harry blinked slowly, permission for what? Whatever it was he must have decided the blink was a yes, because he gently turned his head to one side to get a look at his ears, pushing bloody hair to one side, asking something of Kimya even as he summoned a potion into his hands. Whatever she said made him frown, and then put the potion away again, before summoning a different drink Harry hadn't seen before. A second later it was broken over his head and his ears _popped_.

Everyone around him was screaming, there was gunfire up ahead, people were crying as their broken limbs were set and then doused in healing energy drinks. The airships were popping and cracking and exploding as the explosives and ammunition inside cooked off in the fire, and he could hear Kimya declaring that her fists weren't ' _gunna do shit fer dick against an Exterminatus Pattern_ ', whatever that was, and that she would stay here with Weskham and heal the civilians that escaped this direction.

“Catnip! Y'all got that cannon! Take that son'ova'bitch out!” she commanded, pointing to a figure up ahead, a huge –

“Holy shit, what the fuck is that?” Harry demanded, eyes widening. What fucking cartoon had he fucking stepped into?!! It looked like something Dudley used to collect models of before he decided models were nerdy and uncool and promptly decided to set them on fire in the driveway with Piers.

“MA-Z Exterminatus Pattern Magitek Armour,” Cor reeled off with disgust, “The most advanced war machine the Empire has built to date. Immune to all magics, armour is over twelve inches thick, equipped with armour piercing machine gun, missile launchers, plasma caster, and mono-edged chain sword.”

He could see the chainsword from this distance. It was twice as long as he was tall, and three times wider. Literally. It was _literally_ over twelve feet long and three and a half feet wide.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked a little weakly. Daemons, magic, and fiends, sure he could jive with that, roll with the punches, set fire to them, awesome, that was doable. Giant mecha tanks was a bit..... sci-fi for him. Like.... ridiculously sci-fi. Saturday morning cartoons sci-fi. “Anyone got earplug- ”

A box was shoved at him.

“Cid snores,” Cor told him irritably when he got given a look by the rest of the Retinue.

Harry's grin was all teeth, “Well. I have one Wyvern's fire left,” he declared before popping the box open, cramming the buds into his ears, and then cracked the Iron Assault open over his knee one more time. Both Cor and Kimya jumped away from him at the sudden action as he slammed the last three inch thick shot in, snapped the chamber shut, closed the vents, and yanked the bolt backwards one last time before turning and darting through the Retinue to get on top of the haven, running up the path at the front and levelling the barrel down at the mech.

Centre mass. Right in the back.

He shifted a foot back, braced, and _**fired**_.

The force staggered him back a handful of steps, and straight into a pair of waiting arms.

The mech wasn't so lucky as Harry hit its _powercore_. It exploded, the back panel going up, and then it _**EXPLODED**_ , completely, the whole thing, lighting up the sky, and raining debris across the hill.

Harry got his feet under him and tugged one of the earbuds out, “Well, that's dealt with,” he announced cheerfully, feeling the arms around him tighten for a second before they reluctantly fell away.

“Yeah,” Cor agreed slowly, his voice a little strangled making Harry look back at him before he narrowed his eyes, “But there's plenty of infantry left,” he announced harshly, “And they're coming this way.”

He looked back at the road where soldiers were chasing after the last fleeing stragglers of people, and the sudden burst of white-blue light as Regis appeared in their midst, sword lashing every which way. Cor cursed, drew his sword, and threw it – vanishing in blue-white light to appear at the Prince's side, cleaving soldiers in half. The soldier dropped, and Harry felt his stomach drop down to his feet when blood splattered the dusty parched earth instead of... of black whatever had been in those other soldiers in Lestallum. These ones did not burst into black smoke and evaporate with the passing of the two swordsmen.

Those soldiers were human.

“Let's go!” Kimya shouted down below, and he saw her and the rest of the Retinue wade in – mercilessly.

He flinched when Clarus rammed his shield into a soldier, blasting him off his feet, and then dropped the edge of it into their chest, the sound of snapping bones audible even at the haven. Cid showed _no_ hesitation in ramming his spear through bellies, in spinning it around his shoulder and straight through the sliver thin opening between chin and chest plate to slice open a throat. Kimya and Weskham worked in concert, she would put men down, Weskham would end them with a single merciless bullet to the head. Regis, Clarus, and Cor just cut through them as though they weren't _wearing_ armour.

He – he had to do something. Save _some_ of them, somehow! If – if they didn't fight – he loaded up several of his sleep shots and took aim. Surely if they were unconscious, that meant they couldn't fight, and weren't a threat any more. They could be used for information, prisoners of war, right?

Unlike Tranq shot which burst into a cloud of sedative, Sleep Shot was made to directly apply the sedative into what was hit. So when Harry struck three of the rushing soldiers, they dropped, but Regis and Clarus who were less than three feet away were not hit with the blow-back.

In short order, all twenty of the soldiers were down and out, Harry shouldered the Iron Assault and ran to catch up with them, his steps faltering with horror when he finally caught up, and saw Clarus and Weskham executing the men he knocked unconscious. Why – Kimya caught his elbow, her expression was soft with understanding but her eyes were hard, she shook her head.

“We _are_ at war, Catnip,” she reminded him softly, “An' these bastards attacked a civilian facility,” she pointed out, “Don't think ill a'them.”

Harry glanced over at the soldiers, he wanted to argue. They were only following orders, did they really deserve to die for that? But as soon as he thought it, his mind flashed back to the Nuremberg Trials, and the words stuck uncomfortably in his throat. He looked away, his eyes traitorously finding the fallen forms of men and women in overalls, in jeans, people that had been gunned down as they tried to _run away_. There was a burning car with bodies inside, the glass blown out, tipped onto its side, struck with one of the missiles by that huge mech, or so he assumed.

Everything he had been taught was warring with each other, with his personal experiences, with his upbringing, with what the Order believed, with what Dumbledore told him, with his own morals....

He didn't know what to think.

“I don't think – I can kill humans, Kimya,” he admitted quietly, looking at her miserably. “Fiends and daemons are one thing but....” he trailed off wretchedly. He – he _couldn't_ kill a human. “I – I can't.”

She stepped forward and kissed his forehead, “Yer a good boy, Harry. World needs more a'people like you. Ya remember what I taught ya 'bout healin'?” she asked softly, and he nodded, tightening his grip on the Iron Assault. “Then ya focus on that instead. Leave th'fightin' t'us.”

“What if – surely they might have information?” he suggested almost plaintively, “We could take them prisoner. Pump them for information, sell them back to the Imperials for our own people?”

“The Imperials don't take prisoners,” Cor's voice broke in quietly from behind them, he looked uncomfortable and awkward, as if he weren't sure of his welcome, which.... Harry looked away from him, remembering how he split a man in _half_ and decapitated another, and felt his stomach turn. He was _fifteen_. He shouldn't – he didn't – everyone was always telling Harry that he shouldn't be involved with such dangerous things and here – “And after the last time, we can't risk having Imperials in Insomnia. The last group of prisoners carried samples of the Niflheim Vanishing Sickness, they infected themselves while in custody.”

Vanishing sickness?

“We call it th'Star Scourge here. Black rashes, an' discharge,” Kimya explained, giving Cor a small smile, “It can take anythin' from three days t'three years t'succumb. But th'endin' is always th'same. Y'jest vanish. Yer body breaks down t'nothin', t'dust an' mist, an' only yer clothes is left behind. Only th'true Oracle can cure it from ya. I could create drinks an' potions, but that'd only slow it, and y'd have t'take it every day. I jest don' have th'strength fer it.”

“Hey!” Clarus called, “Gunfire in the mines! Get a move on!” he shouted, gesturing as Regis and Weskham were already running up the tracks towards a cut-through in the rock.

Cor moved first, sprinting after them. Kimya followed a moment, and, with no other choice, Harry took a breath and followed. Swallowing down his trepidation.

There was a woman with multiple shots to her stomach lying on the tracks in front of the mines, it looked like they had gunned her down as she tried to bar the entrance to them, she wore jeans and a white shirt, her hardhat was beside her, and she had a bloodied clipboard in her hands. Blood bubbled out of her mouth as her breath rattled, Regis kneeling beside her desperately pouring potions into her stomach wounds.

“Highness,” she gurgled, “Th're'after'th'tomb,” she slurred, her head lolling to the side as her finger tapped the clipboard, “Dr'pp'd th'stone t'hide it. B't'mn floor. Up th'scaffolds. Look f'th'crack.”

“I will, I will, but you must fight as well. You must survive,” the Prince commanded even as Kimya dropped down beside him and began to pull at her shirt to see the full extent of the damage.

“D'n't waste 'em,” she slurred, “Shot hit m'lung. A're'dy dead, j'st too stub'rn t'die yet.” She smiled weakly with bloody teeth, “Make it worth it.”

Regis closed his eyes and gritted his teeth before nodding, “I will. You have my vow.” He squeezed her fingers, took the clipboard, and turned into the mines.

“Go in Peace t'th'Mother's Embrace,” Kimya intoned softly, touching the woman's forehead and then her lips, before following after him. The rest of the Retinue saluted the woman and ran after their magic users, leaving Harry staring after them, and then down at her in dismay. How could they just _leave_ her there?

“Go on lad,” she gurgled, “Th'lift won't wait.”

He unloaded one of the Sleep shot from the Iron Assault, “I'm sorry I can't do more,” he muttered, “It'll.... it'll make it painless,” he explained, showing the sharpened end.

“Please...” she slurred, and Harry cracked it open and whiffed the powder under her nose. Her eyes slid shut, and he recapped the shot sadly, and – god it felt so _wrong_ to just step over her. He looked over his shoulder, seeing the way her chest continued to rise and fall in her drugged sleep, she shuddered, her body coughing on her own blood by reflex.

A hand caught his arm, and pulled him away.

“Don't watch,” Cor told him, sounding pained, watching him carefully with blue-blue eyes. “You – shouldn't see something like that,” he said, dragging him into the lift. The lift was a tight fit with all seven of them inside, Harry found himself pressed tight between Cor and Regis, the Prince leafing through the papers on the clipboard with furious intensity, scowling angrily, and practically vibrating with the need to punish the people responsible for attacking his people.

“I swear,” Clarus muttered as they descended down the shaft, icy cold air, the scent of damp, and the sound of yelling and gunshots blowing up and over them. “I am getting Jared to research all hints of these tombs,” he bitched quietly, “Two tombs hidden in already occupied spaces.”

“We will need to increase security around Keycatrich,” Weskham announced grimly, “If the Imperials are truly after the Royal Tombs, then two tombs as well as our munitions supply in one fell swoop would be an unrecoverable blow to our forces.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and leaned into the solid warmth against his side, feeling the other teenager shift an arm around him a little. He tried not to think badly of Clarus for complaining about the Tombs, about being _inconvenienced_ , instead of anything at all about these poor people. People handled horrible things differently. People who were exposed to it too much, too often, became desensitised, or developed coping mechanisms that looked.... horrific to an outside observer. Harry knew that much. Uncle Vernon had been a big fan of M.A.S.H. the tv show.

“Which floor are we gettin' off at?” Cid demanded gruffly.

“Basement level three. That is where the Tomb supposedly is. We will work our way up from there,” Regis declared harshly, anger crackling through his voice with enough force that Harry tensed up and felt Cor's hand spasm against the small of his back.

“Give me an' Catnip as many healin' goodies ya got. We'll take care 'a any folk what need it,” Kimya chimed in, making him relax at least a little. At least – _he_ would be – ugh, no, he grimaced and looked away, pained. Feeling relief at not being the one responsible for the killing was _disgusting_. Shame burned thick and sticky and sickly in his stomach, and he had to rub his mouth to hide the way his lips trembled. How did he – he didn't – _what was the right thing to do here?_

He didn't know what to do.

The lift came to a juddering halt, and suddenly bullets were panging off the metal in front of them.

Cor yanked him backwards, covering him with his body as Clarus shoved himself to the front of the group, shield bursting into life on his arm as they all muddled together in the tiny space. The doors creaked and rattled open and Regis lobbed a dagger over everyone's heads and vanished with a flash – shouts went up from up ahead, Clarus roared and charged out like a train behind his shield, Weskham took his chance to open fire while the soldiers were distracted and they were all rushing out of the lift, following after Regis' furious rush through the tunnels. Following the sounds of gunshots and screaming echoing up from the deepest reaches.

He breath caught as he had to jump over dead bodies, cut down, abandoned on the tracks like so much _garbage_ , and felt his stomach turn. Why was he even here? He tightened his grip on the straps of the Iron Assault to stop his hands from shaking as he chased after Kimya, after the Retinue, stomach twisting in on itself, footsteps faltering as everything inside him conflicted with each other.

They dodged through an open gate, and Harry had to look away from the four _massacred_ soldiers scattered across the walkway and the tracks, the broken guns and shattered swords, the dented shield embedded into the stone wall, and the thick dark blood running down the edge of it. More shouting echoed from ahead of them, bouncing off the stone walls as he ran down the passage, and burst out into a huge chamber of white sandstone, beautiful quality stone, it looked almost like quartz crystal with how lovely it was – now marred with bullet scuffs and blood splatters as Regis warped here, there, almost every where, striking down Imperial Soldiers.

The Retinue were ruthless, and Harry could see Kimya running up the scaffolding stairs to his right, he followed, not sure what he was doing, what he _should_ do – he had never wanted his wand more than now. If he _had_ it, he could – he could – _stop this_. _**Somehow**_.

And then he came face to face with a kneeling Imperial as he yanked his dented helmet off, sweaty red hair spilling out, and Harry _froze_ as Arthur Weasley's dazed face looked up at him.

Like a distorted funhouse mirror, it was too wide, too young, he didn't wear glasses or have the receding hairline, or the laugh lines but he _had Ron's eyes and nose, and Ginny's chin and_ –

“TAKE THE SHOT!” Clarus roared from across the room.

He did not.

He staggered back a step, stricken, and Not!Mister Weasley reached for his gun a split second before suddenly Regis was in front of him, arm clamping around his middle like an iron bar, and everything vanished in white and blue and _magic_ like the aetherial where he met Dragon Dick. He gasped as they spilled out a level up, and Regis whirled them both behind a rock, practically holding him up as Harry shook violently, wheezing, not just from the sudden exposure to magic, but – not – Mister Weasley – he – couldn't – what –

Distantly he could hear Regis voice in his ear, commanding him to calm down, take a breath, Harry, you have to calm down. And suddenly Kimya's hands were there on his cheeks, and he grabbed her elbow, probably hard enough to leave bruises he realised distantly. He wasn't hyperventilating, but he _couldn't_ _ **do this – he couldn't – he couldn't kill these people – and without his wand he couldn't fight them – and if he knocked them out then they would be executed and there WAS NO WINNING HERE**_

just... just death...

Harry's magic went wild.

Every single light in the mine exploded, plunging the tunnels into pitch black darkness as the stone cracked and shattered and rumbled around them.

The whole mine shifted, and _shook_.

Kimya shrieked as the stone behind them shifted, Clarus bellowed for light, gunfire lit the room up in flashing strobe and the ground beneath their feet heaved, tossing all three of them off their feet.

White light flashed, and Harry hissed, blinded as Regis summoned a huge pearlescent dome over them – shattering a massive block of sandstone as it crumbled on top of them.

The ground heaved again, and another shattered block, as large as an Imperial Airship, fell atop them, cracking and crumbling against the white shield overhead.

Kimya yanked him down against her, covering him with her body, terrified as she cowered. He squeezed his eyes shut as the mine practically came down around their ears.

What had he done....

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus far, Harry's three modes of operation are: Prevent the thing in the first place, fight to run away from the thing, or straight up run from the thing. And even when he DOES fight, it's to immobilise, to capture, never to kill. Because in his culture, killing is wrong. Our moral society says that killing is wrong. Dumbledore has told him at this point that killing is especially bad for magic users because it literally rips their soul apart. Harry's got his saving people thing conditioned into him to the n'th degree and is still traumatised from the Graveyard and Cedric's death and the Spirits from the Priori Incantatum. Not to mention the massacre they just saw at Crestholm. And he's just been dragged into a situation with a lot of killing, human deaths, committed by people he knows, trusts, and likes, but who treat their enemy like weeds. To be cut down and stepped over for the next one. Which goes against everything he's been raised with. He tries the non-violent option, and they get killed anyway. He's in a situation where he can't PREVENT what's going on, he can't RUN AWAY from it because that would mean abandoning his friends, abandoning Kimya, and he can't FIGHT because it means killing, or being responsible for putting people in a position where they will be killed.
> 
> Really, this chapter was PAINFUL to write because there is absolutely no moral right answer. So Harry's magic went boom. He melted down.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Brief mention of choking and child abuse.

The ground continued to shake for a while, but it didn't buck and heave like a horse trying to throw its rider. And no more stone slammed down onto the shield overhead.

Harry.... felt grey.

He had never had an accidental magic burst of that _magnitude_ before in his life.

Were – were the others alright?

Were they even alive?

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his eyes beginning to sting. This was all his fault. He shook and felt Kimya tighten her arms around him.

“Yer Highness?” she asked weakly above him.

“I think it's stopped,” he eventually said, lowering his arms, the shimmering shield remaining in place. “But.... we're buried.” Harry felt Kimya pull away from him, sitting back on her knees staring around them in dismay. He didn't want to look up, he didn't want to see what he had done, what kind of death he had doomed them to. His breathing hitched, loudly, _too_ loudly in the awkward silence between the three of them.

“I – I'm sorry,” he whispered. “It's my fault. I'm sorry.”

He heard Regis make a strange noise even as Kimya's breath shook.

“I can see a gap in th'rock over there,” Kimya said, her boots crunching on the stone around them. “Ya think y'all can drop th'shield?”

“Not without burying us under several tons of stone,” Regis admitted grimly. “But I can shape it.”

“Accordin' t'ya map, this is where th'tomb is.”

What about the others? Harry wanted to ask. But the words were stuck in his throat. This was his fault. What if he'd killed them? Killed Weskham and Cid, Clarus, and Cor? Crushed and buried them in the dark just because he couldn't control his magic?

He jerked when Kimya appeared beside him, pulling him to his feet. “Come on, Catnip,” she soothed, rubbing his back and tugging the Iron Assault off his back. “Let's get ya though that there gap, yeah? Then Regis can lower his shield.”

Mutely he let her herd him through the tiny gap, Regis whisking his cannon into his magic pocket so that they could get into the tiny gap without incident. As soon as he and Kimya passed through, he slotted himself into the gap, and shimmied through before the white light they had been using winked out – and the hollow they had been in collapsed, rushing air, stone, and dust blasting the three in the face in the darkness of the tiny passage they were in.

There was a pause before Regis flicked his torch out and turned it on for them to get a look around, a lantern was quickly summoned to sit on a small shelf of rock.

Regis took a deep breath, staring at the gap in the rock they had just come out of, his expression conflicted before he swallowed, straightened his back, and turned around. “I will go to the Tomb first. Then we can focus on finding the others and getting out of here,” he declared firmly before marching down the stone passage.

Harry flinched as he passed, and crouched down, wrapping his arms around himself.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered.

“Oh, Catnip, this ain't yer fault,” Kimya soothed, crouching beside him, reaching out to cup his face.

“But it is,” he hissed, anguished, “The lights, the rock breaking, that was _me_. That was _my_ magic,” he confessed miserably. “It just – it just – _reacted._ ”

“Lady Auburnbrie!” Regis called, “I found one of your doors!”

Her hands slid from his face, “...Be right there,” she called back, standing up slowly.

Harry huddled in on himself miserably as she turned and walked away without another word. He should have expected this. There was a reason they had laws against revealing their magic to outsiders, it was for their own protection, he knew it. His whole life was a case-in-point of what happened when magical children were rejected by non-magical families, he didn't want to think about how unlucky certain witches or wizards were when they got married and finally told their spouses only to be rejected. Having to erase their loved one's memories of their entire existence, of the truth, of... doing _something_ to get away from them, of returning to the magical world and being faced with 'well what did you expect from a _muggle_ '.

He thought it would be fine. Kimya had magic. Surely she would understand. But... no.

He turned his head to watch her from the corner of his eye as she met Regis down the passage, the two of them hushing their voices so he couldn't hear. Regis looked angry. Kimya looked scared. And they both glanced his way more than once as they whispered.

He... should leave.

His magic was too volatile, too dangerous for them. He didn't want to put anyone in danger if he panicked like that again, which could very well happen on any hunt, if someone got too into his face like Aunt Marge. He was supposed to be _too old_ for such things but without his wand, was it any surprise his magic lashed out after so long? He shook his head and waited for them to part, Kimya heading down the passage Regis had just left, and the Prince down into the unexplored one.

He got to his feet, pulled out his penlight and stuck it between his teeth before sliding through the gap between the huge stones once more. He pushed and shoved at the debris that fell into the gap, and used the bits that were too big to fall in as steps to get higher, testing to see how deep the rubble went, and whether they were completely trapped which – as he reached the top and pushed a football sized chunk of rock away, they were not.

The gap was just big enough for him to wriggle through, neither Kimya not Regis would have made it through.

He spilled out into pitch black, ontop of a pile of hard white rock and stone. His little penlight patently incapable of piercing the thick muffled black around him, at least until he took a flare from his back pocket and struck it – washing the chamber in bloody red light and deep black shadows.

It.... was not unharmed. But not as bad as Harry had feared. It looked like his magic had only shattered the closest stones, but the shockwave of it had dislodged some of the more precarious squares that had been cut out and were in the process of being rendered down. The scaffolding was in pieces, twisted and torn beneath stone the size of trucks shaken loose from the ceiling. But....

“Hello?!” he called in the darkness.

No one answered. And he couldn't see anyone.

He swallowed sickly, and jammed the flare into the rock overhead, a tiny seam above the gap, and he used a few stones to wedge it in place where it couldn't roll away before he began to haul stones away from the gap so that Kimya and Regis would be able to escape without too much difficulty. He would – clear the way for them. He was careful about how he removed the stones and where he put them, just in case. He made enough space for Regis and Kimya to get out, and he made it stable enough for them to stand and climb.

And then he went to look for the others, striking a second flare as he stumbled down the shattered rocks.

“ _Clem, can – can you smell any of our flatfaces?_ ” he hissed quietly to her, unbuckling the hard leather chest pouch so she could poke her head out comfortably.

She directed him to the staircase, and Harry could hear low rasping breaths beneath the twisted stairs.

He shone his torch in, and found Cid blinking back at him, breathing wetly, alive, bloodied, he croaked something, too quiet to be heard. Harry examined his surroundings before moving a few rocks and wedging them under the staircasing. Cid watched him hazily, not saying anything, just concentrating on breathing properly as Harry carefully began working to unbury his lower-half from stone.

“Harry?!” he distantly heard Regis calling as he was working out how to carefully pull Cid out. He ignored the man, and gently began to pull the old man out from under the stair with his ankles, before practically climbing into the tiny gap, and pulling him up into his arms and then butt-scooting them both out in order to prevent aggravating whatever chest injuries he may have had that left him breathing like _that_.

Regis was already there, bottles flashing into hand as Harry ducked them both out. “I got you, old timer,” the Prince soothed, taking him off Harry's hands with such care he just felt _worse_.

Harry got to his feet, hearing the sound of breaking glass and much healthier coughing from the old man. Clementine hissed and he went to two large stones down at the bottom, and began to dig.

Kimya joined him, making him pause only slightly when she wobbled a strained smile at him in the distant red light, “Door didn't need any fixin'. It's a fairly new one. Only a century or two old,” she explained before going back to hauling stone. Not looking at him.

He swallowed tacky, glue-like saliva, tasting of blood and dust, and went back to work until, bit by bit, a tiny gap was revealed.

“Regis?!” Clarus' voice exclaimed, a hand suddenly bursting through the tiny stone gap, beginning to pull rocks down into the gap until they could see him. He was unharmed, bruised and filthy, and his face spasmed with rage when he saw Harry, enough of it that the Gryffindor yanked his hands back as if burnt, adrenaline spiking.

“Clarus?!” Regis voice exclaimed, and Harry had a split second to move before he was bowled over as the Prince began to haul at the larger stones. Pretty soon a much recovered Cid joined them, clapping Harry on the shoulder with a gruff word of thanks in the red hued darkness before he too turned his hands to the task of digging Clarus out.

There wasn't enough space for all of them.

Harry took a step back, listening as Clementine directed him towards the entrance, back the way they came, there was someone behind the large rock.

“Your Highness!” Weskham's voice called from above them, and Harry looked up to see the retainer at a platform at the top of the chamber, looking around for a way down before groaning and throwing his gun. He Warped, but landed with nothing approaching dignity as he stumbled and went to his hands and knees retching.

Regis laughed with relief, helping him back up, “Four for four!” he exclaimed in almost tearful relief. “Where's Cor?”

“He warped to me when the ceiling came in, pushed both of us into the passage way. He's still moving stone back there. I came the long way around,” the retainer explained with a strained smile as he hugged his Prince.

Which meant that it was Cor Clementine could taste.

Harry glanced over to where everyone was helping to dig Clarus out, and went to go and shift their way out open. He would just get in their way, and he didn't think Clarus wanted his help right now. He could hear rock scraping and grunts from behind the fallen stone silently set to rock, hauling smaller stones out of the way to give them the space to push the larger one out of the way. His fingers were really hurting by now but he didn't stop.

There was a grunt, and the large stone moved threateningly above him.

Harry scrambled backwards and shifted to the side of it, and then threw his shoulder against it until the whole thing tipped – and crunched down onto its otherside, leaving a crawl-space just about large enough for even Clarus to get through.

“Harry! You alright?” Cor asked, jumping up and hauling himself in.

He flashed him a tired smile before nodding to the rest of the group, “They're over there,” he croaked roughly, throat dry and painful from all the dust. The fifteen year old quickly moved off to check his friends, and Harry continued moving rocks to the side, staying out of everyone's way. With Cor joining in the moving efforts, taking Kimya's place, getting Clarus free went much quicker, and pretty soon the big guy was being dragged out of his rocky knook.

The first thing he did was crush Regis in a hug and command him to never scare him like that again.

The next, he went for Harry, who didn't even see him coming until his light was blocked and he looked up, flinching back and catching the hand that was going for his shirt collar around his _neck_.

Clarus slammed him against the wall, roaring something about why didn't he take the shot, but all Harry could see was Uncle Vernon, red face and shaking him by the throat the day the Dementors came for him in Privet Drive.

He scrabbled against the man's arm and then swung his foot forward with all of his might – nailing him between the legs with everything he had.

Harry dropped, gasping and coughing, already moving.

He dove headfirst through the gap, rolling to his feet in the darkness and just _running_. He kept a hand to the wall to guide him, breath rasping, his neck feeling as though it were on _fire_ , like a golf-ball was lodged in his adam's apple as he got his feet under him and ran. Shouts going up behind him, he could hear Kimya screaming his name but – he squeezed his aching eyes shut and ran into a railing.

He crawled under it, onto the concrete step, and darted down the side passage to the right of the gate. They would think he ran for the exit and leave. Once they were gone, he would follow – on his own. He would go back to Vesper and wait for Sirius where he couldn't hurt anyone. He could hunt and forage no problem, the guardian wouldn't bother him as long as he stayed on the haven, and.....

He slowed to a stop as he found a dead end, twisted metal and done under his fingertips as he came to a stop. Slowly, he sank down to sit, and he waited for the shouting to stop.

It didn't.

But it calmed down

Multiple voices echoed down to him, all calling his name.

He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his knees.

Clarus choke-slammed him.

He hadn't _meant_ to. He saw the man reaching for his shirt collar, but because Harry flinched, he missed, _but it didn't stop him_. He still grabbed him by the neck and shoved him into a wall and Harry actually _liked_ him, he was a friend, and he acted like _Uncle Vernon did when he was angry_.

He didn't even realise he was crying until he heard the crunch of a shoe coming down the tunnel and jerked his head up, wet eyes catching the light off of a torch and _burning_. He hissed, flinching away and scrambling to his feet, snatching one of his knives. He couldn't see – couldn't risk using the quicksilver, not where the bullet might ricochet.

“Stay back,” he rasped.

“Harry, it's me,” Regis' voice soothed, “It's me, I'm not going to hurt you.”

There was another step and Harry tightened his grip on the knife, “I said stay back,” he snarled and started _coughing_.

There was a pause and the light shone onto the ceiling, bathing the dead end in soft reflected light, Harry blinked away his tears, rasping and panting harshly as he hugged the wall, arm outstretched, keeping the tiny throwing knife between them. Regis had his hands outstretched, showing he had no weapons.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he promised.

Harry shook his head. “Just go away,” he rasped miserably.

“I cannot do that. I brought you into this mess,” he explained regretfully, lifting his chin, “I do not leave my people behind if I can help it.”

The Gryffindor shook his head, “M'not yours.”

“But you are my friend,” he pointed out, “Foreign or no, it counts. Please. Clarus is sorry about what happened and wishes to apologise properly. He over-reacted, he will not ever lay hands upon you again. Lady Auburnbrie has promised to remove them, and other things, if he attempts it. And I will most certainly not prevent her,” he said, trying to inject some humour into his voice.

Harry shook his head. He just wanted to go home.

“Night will fall soon,” the Prince tried again, taking a step forward, Harry twitched the knife up, his hand beginning to shake with the strain of holding his arm out for so long, “The mines won't be safe,” he warned taking another step forward.

“ _Stay back!_ ” he hissed.

Regis shook his head, “You're not going to hurt me, Harry. You couldn't even hurt that Imperial while he pointed a gun at you,” he pointed out gently, almost cruelly, and pushed the knife aside. And _damn him for looking so much like_ _ **Sirius**_.

The fifteen year old's breathing hitched and broke as Regis took another step tugged him into a hug, tucking his head down against his shoulder, and winding his arms around his shoulders and back, as Harry completely came apart. The stress of the last three and a half months, not knowing where he was, what anything was, daemons, fiends, not knowing anything about his friends, losing his glasses, losing his wand, not knowing when or even if Sirius was coming for him, having to hide his magic again, the nightmares returning, having to fight monsters to pay for his camping bed on Dave's floor, risking his life just so he could eat, Sahara's death, Junon's pain, Kimya's banishment because of his big fucking mouth, selfishly taking Clementine from Vesperpool just to be petty and spiteful towards Cor who was just _awkward_ , not an asshole, Crestholm, just everything about Crestholm, and now Balouve, and hurting them all, and nearly killing Cid and Kimya and Regis, and his magic going haywire.

He completely broke.

It was long overdue.

 

* * *

 

At some point, they ended up sitting on the floor, and eventually, Harry ran out of tears. The calls had stopped, and distantly in the back of his head he knew that meant they found him with Regis – but were giving them space while he completely flipped his shit. He would have felt shame or embarrassment, but he could barely muster the strength to open his eyes right now, he felt rung out, exhausted. Now he understood what people said about crying themselves to sleep.

But there was one thing.... he needed to explain why – why he froze.

“He looked like Mister Weasley,” he finally whispered, “That Imperial. He looked like my bestfriend's Dad. He had Ron's eyes,” he croaked pathetically. “Mister and Missus Weasley could barely afford the children they had, but they took me in anyway, every summer. They took care of me even when it was dangerous and they would have been safer staying far far away.”

“Safer?” Regis prompted quietly, never once stopping the slow circles against his back.

Harry pressed his face blindly into his shoulder. “Voldemort killed my parents because he was aiming for me. He never stopped _trying_. And, Mister Weasley was nearly killed nine months ago, his chest was torn open. He would have died before anyone found him if – ” He cut himself off, and pushed away from him. “I'm sorry.”

“Do not be,” Regis told him firmly, squeezing his shoulders tightly and looking him in the eye. Olive green meeting leaf green. “It was not fair of me to place you in this situation, Harry. I was implicitly warned against it by Cor after Lestallum, and begged by Lady Auburnbrie not to expose you to the war in this fashion. This is my fault for not heeding the words of those more experienced and learned than myself.”

He ducked his head down, shame and hurt flipping over in his stomach at the lack of belief both of them had in him.

“They told me, time and again, no matter how skilled you are, people are a very different beast compared to daemons and fiends. And you are unprepared to kill a human being,” he continued with a heavy sigh.

“We're taught that.... killing is the worst thing you can do. Professor Dumbledore said it rips your soul to pieces. The Commandments declare it a Sin. The Law calls it a crime,” Harry explained quietly.

Regis nodded, his eyes sliding shut, “That's why you used the sleep shot,” he realised, “And you stopped when – ” he cut himself off and shook his head. “That... explains a lot,” he admitted softly before ruffling Harry's hair with a soft wry smile, “You're a good boy, Harry.”

No, he wasn't.

But he didn't have the energy to argue as Regis got him to his feet and began to usher him out of the quiet dead-end he had hidden himself in out of view, and over towards the lift where Cor was waiting with a battery powered lantern at his feet, leaning against the metal frame and scowling at the wall. He stood up as soon as they appeared, naked relief on his face.

“The others have gone to the haven to set up camp,” he explained to Regis without even looking at him, too busy looking Harry over worriedly.

“That is one less thing to worry about at least,” the Prince decided as he gently propelled Harry forward as Cor turned and operated the lift, opening the doors for them, and picking up his lantern. “And Clarus?” he asked, trying to sound neutral. His tone still seemed a little conflicted.

“Keeping six feet between himself and Lady Auburnbrie,” the fifteen year old informed him coolly, evidently not sharing the same mixed emotion as his Prince regarding the Shield. “She gave him two black eyes and a broken nose as soon as he could stand up straight,” Cor informed him almost smugly.

“Oh...” Harry said quietly as the lift rattled and screeched as they finally came to a stop, and stepped out into the setting sun.

Cor hissed, and even Regis muttered a curse.

But he wasn't looking at them.

The lady with the clipboard was still there.

Her eyes were shut and she was smiling.

Her chest wasn't moving anymore.

Cor saw where he was looking and shifted to block his sight, Regis caught his motion and quickly realised what he was doing and began to usher Harry outside again.

He didn't protest. He felt.... numb and thick with exhaustion as Kimya barrelled into him, crying with relief as she hugged him, and then hissed in livid fury at the _finger-prints_ around his neck, and crooned with concern over his torn open and bloody hands and fingers from digging all that rock out in the dark. He just wanted to sleep. He kept his mouth shut and his head down as Kimya pulled him not to the haven but to the truck in order to heal his injuries properly with magic. She had power to spare right now, given how she hadn't needed it for the door.

“Say th'word, Catnip, and we're gone,” She told him softly, cupping his cheeks so he would look her in the eye. “If ya don't want t'share sleepin' space wit'im, ya jest have t'say, an' we'll head fer Longwythe. I am _never_ lettin' 'im lay a _finger_ on ya again,” she swore ferociously.

He closed his eyes and leaned into her, “I'm tired,” he whispered.

“Oh baby... Come on. Let's get ya t'bed.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapters will be fluffier, I PROMISE. 
> 
> But this shit needed to happen.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been amended. Please review them, and inform me of any you feel need to be added.

No matter what half baked ideas Harry had about running away from everyone, to keep them safe from his own unstable magic, were firmly shoved to one side the next morning. Clarus managed to scrap up the courage to apologise to him before breakfast, looking thoroughly miserable. There wasn't really anything Harry could do but tell him it was fine, he knew he didn't mean to grab him by the neck, but he could tell that it wasn't what the man wanted to hear, and it certainly wasn't enough for Kimya or Cid judging by the dark looks on their faces.

But then the first of the people from the mines began to climb the hill, and Harry physically _couldn't_ just stand back and do nothing when they needed help. So while the Retinue began to talk about what their next step was, Harry unbelted his knives and guns, rolled up his sleeves, and left the haven to ask what needed doing.

It was a mark of how badly yesterday had shaken the Royal party that they didn't notice he was even gone for an hour. By then he was already elbow deep in helping the Longwythe residents laying out the dead to be taken for proper burial, and there was no way the Retinue could pull him away. And when they noticed what he was doing, there was also no way they couldn't _not_ join in.

It was back-breaking, heart-sick work as bodies were unearthed from beneath rock slides, beneath fallen machinery, burning cars, all the while more people worked on moving the airships aside from the road below. And that was before they begin to work on the mines themselves – though, given the cave ins, Harry isn't sure if he should be thankful or wretched when the workers refused to allow him to help with _that_. The mines were their domain and they all knew how dangerous they could be, they did not want him underfoot potentially getting hurt while they did what they could.

Weskham and Kimya had set up a kind of soup-kitchen at the haven to keep everyone fed and watered during the backbreaking work, and as the sun began to set, work had to be called to a stop so everyone could get back to the town before the daemons crawled out of their holes. Cid did some clever work to the huge spotlights to get them up and running again, and it _bathed_ the entrance of the mines in hot white light – which would hopefully prevent anything from crawling into it while everyone was elsewhere.

“Catnip?” Kimya prompted, making him twitch and flinch slightly when her hand found his hair. He looked up from his food, finding everyone watching him. “What do you think?” she asked kindly.

He swallowed, “Sorry. I didn't – I wasn't listening,” he admitted quietly, dropping his head again.

She smoothed her fingers through his dirty hair, “Regis thinks we could all do with some R'n'R, an' I'm inclined t'agree with him. There's a beach down th'hill. He's invited us t'join 'em,” she explained kindly.

He shrugged a little awkwardly, “If you want? I've never been to a beach so,” he shrugged. It didn't matter to him one way or the other.

“Until we set out on this road trip, neither had any of us,” Weskham admitted with a smile as he lounged in his camping chair, lifting his mug in Harry's direction. “Cid is our only experienced beach-goer.”

The old man in question snorted, “Soon as we left Insomnia th'first thing Reggie wanted t'do was come down here t'see a beach proper. Just fer a day, he said, just t'see the fish, t'look at Angelgard Island.” He scoffed mirthfully. “We were there fer three days while fish fer brains tried t'reel up th'Devil of th'Cygillan. Never even saw a _wiggle_ of th'darn thing,” he cackled.

“Well! It's days are numbered!” Regis proclaimed from his seat, pointing his fork at the old man, “You'll see. I'll get it this time!”

“Don't forget your sunscreen this time,” Cor chipped in slyly, “Your Peeliness.”

Regis gasped theatrically, “Mutiny!”

“King of Lobsters,” Weskham proclaimed.

“Y'looked like th'sorriest onion in Leide,” Cid informed him helpfully.

Harry mustered a dull smile and shook his head, turning his attention back to his food. The cracks were there, none of them had handled yesterday very well, but they were trying to regain their humour, their emotional equilibrium. Maybe the beach trip would do them some good, either way, Harry was going to copy Kimya's map and take the first night he could to slip away.

They packed the camp up with the dawn, and drove down south, by-passing the still blocked road below. It was a fairly short drive, an hour to get to the bottom of the hill where they all parked up at a small lay-by bracketed by bright spotlights. The view down to the beach was incredible. Rolling green hills, trees, and a stretch of flawless white sand with a distantly glimmering haven, crystal clear blue water, a fishing dock, _palm trees_ , he could even see distant rock pools at the cliff edges, and patches of colours here and there of wild flowers. It was beautiful.

Now they just had to talk down there with all of their things.

Or _not?_

He blinked in bewilderment when, as he began to unload Kimya's suitcase and their tent, they were both taken off him and whisked away by magic. Cid gruffly telling him that it would be easier and faster to just carry them down like this before reaching out for the other things and tucking them away as well.

Which reminded him, Regis took the Iron Assault yesterday. He was going to have to ask for that back.

The large group made their way down to the beach, there were no paths, so they meandered lazily down the grass hills, Clarus out in front with Weskham, Regis explaining about the fish he pulled up last time to an appreciative Kimya who apparently used to spend hours as a little girl fishing at the Vesper, Harry walked with Cor, and Cid brought up the rear, lighting up a cigarette as he did so.

“Oh,” the other fifteen year old grunted and then summoned a few sheets of paper into his hand, “Here,” he muttered, shoving them at Harry.

Bewildered, the Gryffindor took them, and unfolded them. Painstakingly copied Solheim lettering filled the paper. His eyes skimmed the text, his reading comprehension of the language had increased drastically since he had started translating the doors, and the quick look was enough for him to realise this was – not something he had read before. He looked up at Cor in confusion, the fifteen year old stiffly staring directly ahead of them, clenching his jaw hard enough to crack his teeth as he scowled, ears going red, cheeks turning pink under tanned skin.

“Kimya said there was a door, but you hadn't had time to look at it. So, while you were with Regis, I went back and copied it for you,” he explained uncomfortably.

Harry stared at him and then back down at the papers in his hands. “...Thank you...”

“I think I got them right. But, I don't read it so, if it's wrong, I'm sorry. It was dark and – ” he cut himself off scowling and scrubbing a hand across the back of his head. Harry could see how much effort went into the lettering, he would be very surprised if this wasn't more accurate than his own chicken scratch notes.

“Want to learn?” he asked before his brain could catch up with his mouth.

“Could be useful,” Cid chimed in gruffly from behind them, and Harry could see the way Cor's shoulders ratcheted up an inch. Ah. He had forgotten the mechanic was there, he had wanted to turn the papers over without anyone knowing. He was embarrassed.

The mechanic planted a hand on top of the soldier's head, ruffled his hair, and by passed them, grumbling about his back as he stomped away.

“If you _want_ ,” Harry stressed quietly, “Useful or not, you aren't obligated,” he muttered.

“Hey!” the two looked up as Regis waved frantically, “Harry! When's your birthday!!”

The Gryffindor paused, and then pulled a face, “Oh. I forgot. I missed it,” he muttered even as he folded away the papers, “July thirty-first!” he shouted back stepping over a pile of dung an animal had left behind.

“July?” Cor echoed with a small frown, “We don't have a month of July.”

Harry stared at him in confusion. No – no July?

No, _of course no July_. There had never been a Julius Caesar here! Or an Augustus! Neither the months of July or August would exist on another world because there were never any asshole roman emperors with tiny dicks who felt they had to compensate for it by naming entire months after themselves. He dragged a hand through his hair and did some quick mental maths, “It would be.... the two hundredth and twelfth day of the year.” That was right, wasn't it? Thirty days, half September, April, June, and November; all the rest had thirty one; except for February alone, which had twenty-eight days clear, and twenty-nine each leap year. Seven months, one twenty eight, two thirty, the rest thirty one. Yes. That should be two-hundred and twelve.

Cor was frowning as well, “You use a different calendar?” he asked with a small tilt of his head.

Harry shrugged, “Well, we kind of had these two asshole emperors a few thousand years ago who decided they had very small penises and therefore needed to compensate by demanding whole new months be made specifically for them,” he explained with a wrinkled nose. His words were startling enough that the other fifteen year old snorted and had to turn away, snickering childishly.

“What's so funny?” Clarus asked when they finally caught up to the rest of them at the point where grass started to become sand.

“Your attempts to pick up women,” Cor snapped, smile sliding off quickly.

Clarus lifted his hands, palm out, “Alright,” he demurred, taking a step back and turning away.

Harry stared at the two with wide eyes, an awkward silence falling over the group, but apparently an unsurprised one. He looked between them as Cor continued to glare at the Shield with sharp eyes, the big guy striding towards the haven without waiting for them. Regis flashed him a strained smile while Weskham sighed and shook his head, Kimya brushed some imaginary dirt from her hands and then decided to slip between the men folk to link her arm with his.

“So. When's July?” she asked cheerfully.

Harry scratched at his hair, “Uh, apparently we use different calendars?”

“I gathered _that_ , Catnip,” she pointed out with a small playful roll of her eyes. “But when abouts would ya say it is in th'year?”

“Almost halfway. It's the two hundredth and twelfth day,” he explained uncertainly.

“Eighth a'May,” Cid announced after taking a drag on his cigarette.

“Aw! Catnip, ya should'a said somethin'!” Kimya exclaimed, hands up to her mouth.

Harry shrugged, “I honestly forgot,” he admitted, “It's not a big deal.”

“Do you mind sharing?” Regis asked, looking at Cor who twitched a little, blinked owlishly at him, and then stiffened. The Prince laughed in helpless disbelief, “Don't tell me _you_ forgot as well?!” Cor looked away and scowled, going pink. “Well, you're getting a joint birthday then, both of you!” he proclaimed with a happy clap of his hands.

The Gryffindor shook his head, “No, really, it's fine – ”

Kimya began to tug him to the haven, “Sixteen is an important birthday in Lucis, Harry,” she told him happily, “I'm jest sorry we missed it. I shoulda asked sooner,” she lamented, squeezing his arm. “How 'bout yer home? Any special birthdays we should know 'bout?” she asked cheerily.

He felt decidedly hunted, and looked over his shoulder in panic at the other men who watched with varying expressions of amusement. Even Cor, the traitor. Harry refrained from pouting, badly, and Kimya elbowed him impatiently, making him face forward again uncomfortably. “Um. Well. It depends on _which_ side you are. Sixteen is considered, erm, age of consent, but people don't consider you a legal adult until after you're eighteen. Uhm, my side considers you of age when you reach seventeen.”

“Age of consent?” Kimya asked excitedly, “What's that?”

Harry went red and looked away, “Um. Wh-when you're old enough to – officially leave education behind and other things. If-if you wanted to you could get a job, and there's nothing legally saying you can't. And... and you're old enough to... consent to having sex. As in – well, it's a bit, there's a lot of – ” He took a breath, this was _so_ embarrassing, “A sixteen year old can consent to having sex legally. If you, as a person over the age of eighteen, were to engage in sexual relations with someone fifteen or younger, it would be considered Sexual Assault or Rape, regardless of how that person behaved, what they said. Because legally they're still a child. That's the... _legal_ hardline. For straight couples. Being gay is.... still technically _illegal_.”

Kimya stopped dead. “I – _pardon?_ ”

She wasn't the only one shocked and Harry swallowed hard, not looking at any of them, but instead straight ahead to where Clarus was pitching everyone's tents and setting up the camp. This was not going to be a fun conversation. It wasn't a fun conversation when he _learned_ about it either. The one time Aunt Petunia had been anywhere near half-way pleasant to him was when his Year Four maths teacher was found beaten half to death in a gutter. Mister Garside had been his favourite teacher at school, he was funny, and kind. And then one day he was gone and half the older kids were saying he was a pervert. Aunt Petunia sat both him and Dudley down and explained as best she could to a pair of confused eight year olds what being gay meant. It wasn't until he met Hermione and she started researching civil rights and protests, bringing up the efforts to decriminalise homosexuality and how the magical world strangely didn't have any laws or taboos against it, which was _really_ weird given how hot the purebloods were about fucking _breeding_.

“It was criminalised some five hundred years ago. Punishable by hanging.” Thank you King Henry, you massive bag of dicks. “Religion was very draconian back then, it dictated that relations were only permissible between a man and a woman with the purpose of begetting children, that lust was a sin. Fifty years ago you had the option of life imprisonment or chemical castration. There was only objection and outcry when a Baron and three others of high standing were actually charged, usually they're able to bribe their way out. Forty years ago it was _partially_ decriminalised, but also still _technically_ illegal. What two consenting adults got up to in private, was their own business, officially. Unofficially, if anyone found out, you were to be considered breaking Indecency Laws and would be arrested. Even holding your partner's hand, or kissing in public would be considered Indecent. They criminalised the writing and selling of literature that even mentioned it sixteen years ago. Eight years ago they started sending people to schools to... basically tell everyone how sick and wrong it was, that gay families weren't real ones. Not that it's legal for them to get married, or adopt children, or keep custody of children, or _work_ with children.... If you're military you can expect a Dishonourable Discharge as well. Can't work in a hospital, or around any vulnerable people. Nothing legally stops you from working in Government, but good luck if they find out.

“Outside of the law though, you can expect to get the shit beaten out of you. It's considered sick, wrong, a mental illness. You can expect your family to throw you out, physically attack you, same with strangers on the street,” he continued to explain robotically, all of Hermione's stories crashing around in his head as she told him about her Uncle Chris and everything he and his boyfriend Ian dealt with. If was because of them that she gained such a fierce desire to fight for change in and equality.

“Your family – ” Cid growled from behind him.

“Have no clue,” Harry stated flatly. “I've never heard Aunt Petunia say anything negative though. Even when she found out one of my old teachers was gay. Uncle Vernon would probably throw me out. Dudley would break my face.”

“What about Sirius?” Regis asked, sounding worried.

“Wouldn't care. He had a different upbringing. And I'm pretty sure he fucked my dad at least once when they were younger,” he admitted with a forced 'careless' shrug. He was pretty sure Sirius fucked his way through the whole of Hogwarts to hear some of his 'stories'. He took them with a very large pinch of salt.

There was a pause, and then a slight cough from _someone_ he had no idea who.

“MOVING ON!” Regis declared loudly, with forced cheer. “So. Sixteen is legal for you guys. Well, that'd be fifteen here. At least as far as military service and employment goes. Actual legal adulthood is twenty. But sixteen is considered important because it's the age when in the old days you'd be presented to the Gods at the festival of the Draconian on the longest day of the year. It'd also be the age when you could get married, so it would be when a lot of Courting declarations began.”

“So we're definitely celebratin' it. No runnin' away!” Kimya declared, pointing close enough to his face to poke his nose, which she did a split second later with a giggle. “How'd ya celebrate yer birthdays?”

Harry shrugged, once again looking away, “I've never actually celebrated normally. Most of the time it's supposed to be a party with family and friends, people bring gifts, there's food, sometimes games. Cake with candles.”

“Sounds like what we do. Do y'all do any different in th'Crown City?” she asked, craning her head to look back at the rest of them as they reached the haven.

Regis laughed a little awkwardly, “I too confess to never having a... _normal_ birthday. I do not think we need go through the ceremonies for Cor and Harry. Though, the prayer to the Draconian might not go amiss given our luck lately.”

Yeah, how about no? Harry fought not to bristle at the very idea of praying to that armoured bag of ass and instead played it off as wriggling himself free of Kimya to nose around the camp. Everyone's tents were set up, bedding was laid out – he still found the Retinue's tent to be patently ridiculous in size but at least it only took up _half_ the haven. And with five of them, none of whom were particularly small men, it was probably _needed_. Both of Kimya's suitcases were in their tent, Harry's bedding, backpack, and the Iron Assault were waiting for him, as was the meat cooler and his box of leathers and fur, and his ammo box too.

A sun-canopy had been set up in the space between their tents to give them some shade, and beneath it was Weskham's cooking equipment, the table, and arrayed around the campfire so as not to block paths in and out of the tents were all the chairs. All in all, it was set up perfectly for an extended stay.

“Thank you for setting up our tent,” Harry said to Clarus as he surfaced from their tent.

“You're welcome, Harry,” the Shield said.

He turned away to Cid, “Was there any where to get fresh water last time you were here?” he asked curiously. He wanted to actually get washed, and clean some of his clothes as well while the weather was good – doing that in salt water was a death sentence though, and not just for his leathers.

Cid looked longingly at his sun-lounger, but ultimately turned away and gestured at him to follow.

“So,” the old man grunted, “Bein' with another man is illegal in yer home?” he asked with a shake of his head, “An' yet yer _Daddy_ \- ”

“Different side of the train-tracks,” Harry corrected softly. “Think of it like..... Lucis and Insomnia. They're technically the same country, but Insomnia is insular and cut off and seem to have some pretty weird ideas, or that's the impression I got from the guys at Crestholm.” Cid snorted and muttered something about not knowing the half of it even as he gestured at him to continue. “Insomnia would be the part of the country my Dad grew up in. Insular, different, but ultimately small, and incredibly secretive. Lucis is like where my Mum grew up. Much bigger, more people, more opinions, more cultures clashing and melding into one another. I grew up with Mum's sister, outside. But on Dad's side of the world, no one cared about same sex relationships. Which kind of always struck me as weird given how all the Purebloods acted. I guess they didn't care if you were screwing another man because they were too busy screwing their sisters.”

Cid choked on his cigarette.

 

* * *

 

First order of the day for Harry and Kimya was to get their clothes and themselves cleaned.

It was with _great_ reluctance the rest of the Retinue followed their example.

It was clear they wanted to relax, but Harry wanted to make sure everything was done so he _could_ relax. Hermione had him too well trained by now for anything else, he admitted as he rinsed his clothes of dust, sweat, and blood. Plus, he did actually want clean clothes. At this point all that he had left was the fancy suit that – well, Weskham was trying to salvage it right now after Harry scrunched it up into his backpack during their mad run from Keycatrich. He seemed to be winning, but Harry did _not_ see why he was bothering. There was no way he was going to be able to keep that thing in good condition in a _backpack_.

He also didn't really have anywhere to _wear_ it either, but he guessed they were thinking he could take it with him when he went home and wear it for special occasions there....

That was actually quite nice of them, thinking about it.

He made a mental note to wear it when he graduated Hogwarts. If only to give the Purebloods a collective hernia that he would _dare_.

After that was washing themselves. To which Kimya took her bucket into their tent to clean up, while the rest of them threw soap at each other. Getting clean though, Harry didn't give a damn about Regis nailing Cid between the eyes with a bar of soap as he used a wash cloth to scrub all the accumulated scum from Crestholm and Balouve from his armpits and behind his knees. Never mind washing it out of his hair – _that_ was as close to a religious experience he had ever had in his life.

(He was also, VERY VERY CAREFULLY, _not_ looking up. Lest he end up with body confidence issues to outnumber reader's digest. Being the shortest and thinnest was one thing when it was the Quidditch team, he _was_ the youngest, and everyone was well padded with good meals and student living. That was no longer valid. Cor was younger than him. And had half his weight again in sheer muscle and _height_ , and Harry was absolutely not going to look up and subject himself to that. Or his hormones. He did not _need_ that burned into his brain. Forget the self-esteem issues, he would literally rather physically drown himself.)

Clean clothes, sea breeze dried, after getting cleaned up was wonderful.

And then Regis declared that he was going fishing.

The heckling was immediate as the Prince shamelessly jumped off the edge of the haven and went for the nearest fishing pier. Cid threw himself into his lounger and declared it was nap-time, cranked the radio up, pulled his cap down over his eyes, and for all intents and purposes, fell asleep then and there.

Clarus cast a glance at Cor who had pointedly sat down to start sharpening his sword without looking at him, and changed into a pair of swimming trunks to go and jump into the sea. Huh. It was a full body tattoo. Cool. Weskham made a large pitcher of some iced drink, and then perched himself on his chair with a very hefty looking novel and a plate of orange slices. A peek into his tent revealed that Kimya had washed up, and then gone to sleep.

He took the water and disposed of it before sitting down and.......

What did he do now?

He glanced at the ocean but, well, he didn't really know how to swim so that was out. He'd heard enough horror stories about rip-tides that he wasn't about to risk it when he could barely manage a dog-paddle without gillyweed to ease the way. A glance at Regis showed him sat, stone still, like a gargoyle at the edge of the water with fishing line and reel out in the rocky shallows.

Yeah, he would rather not.

He wasn't tired, but he didn't particularly want to start translating the papers from the last two doors right now. It was.... still a bit too fresh. He didn't want to think about them right now.

He glanced at Cor who seemed to have zoned out while cleaning and sharpening his genji blade. The huge katana was about as long as he was tall, it should have looked patently ridiculous in his hands. It really didn't.

Well, he probably had a good point. After Balouve, and Crestholm, his weapons could do with some cleaning.

Especially the Iron Assault after all those wyvern's fire shots it put out.

He went and got his weaponry, and sat down beside the fifteen year old to clean his own arsenal in companionable silence, the distant sound of Regis and Clarus splashing behind them, the turning of Weskham's pages, the radio, and eventually, Cid's actual snoring.

Harry chuckled, “You weren't kidding,” he muttered quietly, making Weskham flick his eyes up from his book, smirk, and return to it.

“Hm?” Cor grunted, tilting his head to show he was listening even as he continued to work.

“Cid.”

He snorted, “It's worse when he's lying down,” he stated quietly.

“He snores like my Uncle. How have I never noticed until now?” he asked as he pulled one of his quicksilvers into pieces and laid it out neatly so he'd know how to put it back together, before beginning to clean it properly.

“Sounds like my Grandpa,” Cor admitted.

“Yeah? The same one who's sword you have?”

“Yeah.”

“What was he like?” Harry found himself asking. He had never known his grandparents, never known Dudleys. Hell, he had never met Ron's grandparents either, or Sirius's. He had.... absolutely no experience with them, except Augusta Longbottom and.... somehow he didn't think she was your _usual_ flavour of grandparent. “If you don't mind me asking,” he added quickly, realising that it might have been a bit too personal, a little late.

“Strong,” the fifteen year old eventually admitted. “The strongest.”

The Gryffindor smiled a little as he cleaned and reassembled the quicksilver, listening to the Insomnian talk about his grandfather, who was, possibly, the person he admired most in the world to hear him talk. He learned about his mother, a little girl when they fled the Empire and went to Lucis. Her childhood was spent on the road, and she became a seamstress when they reached Insomnia. It was nice, listening to him, he had a good voice.

And if it helped Harry figure out what to make him for his birthday, well, even better. Because he had _no_ fucking clue.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL YOU GUYS. I have good news and I have bad news.
> 
> Good news: I have a new job. It's an administration role so I won't be absolutely dying on my feet every day.  
> Bad news: No more excessive update schedule I'm afraid. I will not be available to write 5k+ a day once I start.
> 
> Now. There's a lot going on in this chapter that needs to be addressed so I'll do it quick.
> 
> 1/ Calendar: Without asshole Roman Emperors, there should be absolutely no July or August in there. So there's ten months now. All of them are 36 days long. Because there's 360 days in the year. There are Astral Specific holidays and festivals, I'll cover them later.  
> 2/ Gay rights in the UK: Harry is currently of the year 1996. Being gay is still partially criminalised. Writing about homosexuality is still illegal. Don't Ask Don't Tell is still in effect. It is still illegal to be gay and work with children. With the exception of the age of consent lowering from 21 to 18 in 1994, the first and only real improvement to gay rights in the UK occurs in the Millennium, once in 2000 (DADT is removed and LGBTA+ military can serve openly) and 2001 (being trans is declassified from mental illness), until 2005, when the real changes begin to roll in.   
> 3/ Cor's official birthday is never given. So I made one for him. On the Lucian Calendar, his birthday is the 10th of September (four days away in story).


	22. Chapter 22

...

...

...

Well.

Clarus certainly made a better looking mermaid than any of the _actual_ mermaids he had met, Harry decided almost absently as he watched the transformation taking place in front of him. After swimming for several hours, the Shield crawled onto the sandy beach to stretch out and nap, at which point Cor told him to wait and proceeded to slither off the haven and start burying the larger man in the sand. He must have been a heavy sleeper because he didn't so much as stir as cool damp sand was piled over his legs.

Harry glanced over to Weskham who was chuckling quietly to himself as he watched the fifteen year old bury his friend. He looked down at his little arsenal. Back up at the two on the sand. And then he slid off the haven to scavenge some dried seaweed to really give the Shield some long flowing locks. He had nothing better to do.

Cor snickered when he saw Harry begin to lay it out and then went in search of shells to make some manner of clam bra, or nipple caps.

Between the two of them, they buried the Shield from his chest to his toes, long flowing hair of dry seaweed, two large sandy breasts tipped with white seashells because Harry couldn't find anything particularly large to cover them properly. And a long carefully moulded, shaped, and carved tail.

Weskham took pictures on his clunky Polaroid camera the whole time.

Thankfully they were finished by the time Regis joined them, wondering what they were doing, looking for something to drink, and burst out into raucous laughter loud enough to wake their victim. The two fifteen year old scrambled away as the Shield came to, grumbling and then frowning in bewilderment before his hands found sandy breasts and cupped them in confusion – that swiftly fell away into embarrassment, shock, and mirth when he realised what had happened. He of course chased them, wielding his 'hair' in one hand as a weapon as he took off in pursuit, howling for revenge.

Harry scampered up one of the palm trees, getting well clear of him, and watched in amusement as Clarus chased Cor up the beach and onto the grass, at which point the younger of the pair let him get close, and then ducked, turning on a dime, and shooting off back down to the water. Clarus threw the seaweed at him, missed, and continued chasing.

Between one step and the next, Cor's uniform vanished and was replaced by swimming trunks before he literally cannon-balled into the surf from the fishing pier. The Shield charging after him.

It was stupid, and childish, but he laughed, watching the two mess around, quickly joined by Regis who decided that Clarus was having far too much trouble with the youngest of their party. It eventually devolved into a free for all though when the Prince dunked his Shield for shits and giggles.

Chuckling, he climbed down from his palm tree, figuring he was safe and the three actual children were thoroughly distracted. He rejoined Weskham and Cid on the haven.

“Not going to join them?” Weskham asked lightly as he fanned his photographs to develop them.

Harry glanced over to the group in the water before snorting, “I can't swim well enough for _that_ ,” he admitted with a shake of his head.

The retainer nodded with a chuckle, “I'll be sure to warn them before someone gets it into their head to throw you off the pier,” he promised before showing him his collection of pictures. Clarus, awakening, blearily cupping his seashell tipped breasts in confusion; Harry perched like a frightened cat atop the calm tree; both he and Cor grinning at the camera, Clarus sleeping in all of his sandy mermaid glory behind them; various in progress shots of them burying and decorating the man; Harry and Cor cleaning their weapons sat next to each other, both smiling a little as they chattered quietly; Regis puzzling out how to clean his own sweat-stained shirt with a bucket of water and a box of detergent, he looked so lost; and the last picture, Cid snoring in his seat, butterfly on the tip of his nose.

Harry grinned, returning them, “Good timing. I didn't even realise you took a picture,” he admitted.

Weskham smirked, “I've gotten rather good at stealth photography, I must say. Cor gets very flustered if I catch him doing anything unprofessional. My poor camera has suffered many an assassination attempt during our journey,” he lamented playfully, making the Gryffindor laugh – and then yell as cold water was dumped over his head.

Regis laughed wickedly, a split second before Harry tackled him off the haven.

They tumbled into the sand, the Prince cackling and howling for protection even as Harry declared the Line of Lucis Caelum ended today as he mushed the man's head into the sand and scrubbed seaweed into it.

“An' why're we endin' th'line a'Kings t'day, Catnip?” Kimya's voice asked from above them, yawning.

He made the mistake of looking up, and Regis promptly flipped them and proceeded to return the favour, mashing seaweed into Harry's hair while he writhed and cursed – at least until he managed to hook his feet under Regis' armpits and yank him backwards and down. The Prince squawking in surprise before Harry grabbed one of his feet and started _tickling_.

“AH NO! TREASON! NOT THE FEET!! CLARUS!! _CLARUS – COR!!_ ” he screeched,

If he expected protection, he was mistaken.

Clarus sat on him and Cor grabbed his other foot.

The torture continued.

Weskham took plenty of pictures.

 

* * *

 

Despite the nice view, it was pretty easy to get used to and then practically blind to everyone around him being shirtless and wet. Mainly because Harry was trying very hard not to let his nervousness show as, between Regis, Kimya, and Cor, they set out to teach him how to swim properly.

Weskham had been true to his word, and after they had finished torturing the Prince he had scooped up Harry and been about to do exactly as Harry feared he was about to do, only to have the Retainer call him back and tell him in no uncertain terms why it was a bad idea. Harry was then forced to admit he had never actually _learned_ how to swim, he just kind of.... got forced to figure out how to paddle after some stuff happened. So by technicality, he could swim, just _very badly._

So there he was, being taught to regulate his breathing and float in the deeper water where the surf was unlikely to drown him.

“Yer fine, Catnip, I got ya,” Kimya soothed beside him, treading water, her hand warm on the small of his back, “Keep straight there. Shoulders back. Yer doin' great. I'm gunna take my hand away in a sec. Ya just keep doin' what yer doin',” she coached, and he felt her hand move from his skin.

He wasn't scared, but it was a little disquieting. But he kept his shoulders back and his stomach up, and... nothing changed. He continued floating, continued breathing, no problem.

“Well done!” she exclaimed happily, clapping in the water.

By unspoken agreement, most of the trust exercises fell into Kimya hands as the person that Harry trusted most out of _all_ of them. She was, after all, the only one he allowed into physical contact without prior awareness. He might flinch a little in surprise, but he didn't stiffen up or try to move away like he would have with any of the others. Cid wasn't one for swimming, Weskham found that salt water didn't particularly agree with his skin and unless he washed off immediately in fresh water he would end up with uncomfortable rashes and occasionally split skin. Clarus was a hard no on physical contact, no one even attempted to ask him for assistance on the matter, and he didn't offer.

Harry let himself go upright, remembering to spread his arms out and kick his legs in _wide_ arcs, not little ones close to his body that would waste energy and just make him sink faster. “Thanks. Sorry for wasting your evening,” he muttered.

“None a'that. No time I spend with ya will ever be a waste. Now. I can _smell_ somethin' delicious back at th'haven. I think we deserve a bite after all this hard work, wouldn't ya say?” she asked with a playful grin, “Not t'mention it's getting' dark. Think ya can swim t'shore?” she asked already drifting in that direction.

He nodded, and shifted, kicking his legs in wide motions, stamping on the water wouldn't do him anything, he needed to displace a _lot_ of water to get mobility and stay above the surface.

It was clumsy and ugly and not at all easy, but he managed to follow Kimya as she lead the way back to the beach. He was completely exhausted, and his legs were jelly by the time they got onto the sand, and he felt _really_ weird trying to walk again. Like he was stuck in one place or going backwards instead of forwards. Kimya laughed as he stumbled, and took his hand so he wouldn't land face first in the sand.

It was made a _little_ awkward for him because he was literally in his underwear, not owning any swimming trunks, he had just double layered his boxers for lack of anything else. But no one made a big deal of it as they stumbled onto the haven, already beginning to dry out. Weskham was working the stove, humming along with the radio, Cid was happily roasting on his lounger, while Clarus was reading, Regis napped quietly, and Cor whittled something out of a chunk of drift wood. It was peaceful, and why he didn't react when the fifteen year old paused in his work and then blatantly stared at him.

“Your arm,” he practically growled, “What happened?”

Harry blinked at him, and then looked down. No bruises, no cuts, no rashes. He looked back up in confusion.

“The _scar_ ,” he grit out, pointing directly to the long slash going from his elbow to his wrist that Wormtail had given him the night Voldemort was resurrected. Or he could have been pointing to the one slightly above it, the tooth mark from the Basilisk when he was twelve.

And it had been such a good day.

“I'd rather not talk about that,” he muttered, looking away and covering it carefully with a hand. The wrong hand, he realised when he heard a sharp inhale and saw his eyes lingering on the back of Harry's hand, on the words that Umbridge had forced him to carve into his flesh. “That _either_ ,” he added flatly.

Saved by the bell, the dinner bell that is.

Weskham appeared in that moment with food for everyone and Harry eagerly stuffed his face so he wouldn't have to answer any questions, but he could still feel Cor's eyes watching his every move, scowling unhappily. And he wasn't the only one. Clarus was eyeing the scars, his face, the scars again, and looking like he was thinking very hard and not liking what he was coming up with. Regis looked – it was hard to say. He'd gone all Princely and stiff, but was clearly also unhappy, his expression about as conflicted as it could be while he had that stoic look on his face. Cid had given the scars a sharp eye, glance at his face, and then put his head down and focused on his food. Weskham looked to Kimya for guidance and she shook her head, so he dropped it.

He'd had this talk with her before. He wasn't suicidal, they weren't self-harming scars or attempted suicide scars, they _weren't_. When Dave came and told her about them, having seen them while Harry changed in their shared room, he had been so mortified about the 'intervention' the Auburnbrie clan had put together he had blurted out the whole story of each and every one of them. So Kimya knew. And she could tell them. He _really_ didn't want to hash it out a second time with a far sharper audience. Not that Kimya or Ezma were stupid, but between them, Kimya knew very little of the outside world, Ezma hadn't really gone much further than Lestallum, and knew nothing of magic. The Retinue was a very different beast. And not one he wanted to pique – despite having already done so.

“Y'all are too quiet!” Kimya suddenly declared into the strained silence. “C'mon! Tell me sum'thin' about yerselves! Yer Highness, what would ya like t'do if ya weren't a Prince? Like, what job would y'all want t'do?”

“Professional fisherman,” he announced without hesitation. Prompting snorts of laughter from the Retinue and good-natured ribbing over how he would be homeless within a year because he was a terrible fisherman.

“What about the rest a'ya?” she prompted.

Which started everyone off on a journey of self reflection.

Cid was happy as a mechanic, but if he weren't on retainer to the Royal Family then he'd open up his own machine shop, his own garage, and run it as a family business. Mid enjoyed working in the mines at Keycatrich, but he hated being underground all the time, hated the darkness, and after the _bomb_ incident, Melba wanted him far away from military idiots – no offence, Cor.

“None taken,” the fifteen year old grunted with a weird constipated look on his face, “Idiots like that are accidents waiting to kill good people. He never should have been accepted, never mind put anywhere near anything sensitive. Whoever his SO is, they need their head surgically removed from their asses,” he sneered hotly.

Looks of amusement were exchanged by the Retinue, not surprise like Harry and Kimya. Neither of them had heard such vehemence out of the usually quiet soldier before now, unless he was _actively_ in an argument with Harry that was. If this was how he normally spoke, and Melba's words back in Keycatrich suggested it was, then.... huh. Always had an opinion on something? And it certainly sounded like he wasn't normally shy in sharing it either.

Harry eyed him curiously, wondering what exactly it was that he decided to keep to himself while he was around. Because he was _clearly_ the reason why Cor had decided to keep his mouth shut lately.

“What about you?” Kimya asked, looking at the fifteen year old. “I know y'all're in th'army, an' all. But if there wasn't a war goin' on, what d'ya think y'd do fer a livin'?” she asked curiously.

He definitely glanced at Harry under his eyelashes before shrugging a shoulder, “Probably be a hunter,” he admitted, suddenly _bashful_. What.

“You like fighting too much to give it up,” Clarus chuckled, and Cor flushed, scowling down at his ankles.

Harry frowned a little, “What about you?” he asked, looking at the Shield, wondering why the light hearted ribbing rubbed him the wrong way all of a sudden. “What would you do if you weren't a Shield?”

He blinked, “Uh... I have never given it thought, to be honest. If there is an Amacitia of the right age, then they are to be a Shield. There... is no other path to take.” He rubbed his chin, frowning, “I... honestly don't know. I – I would probably join the Crownsguard, or become a Hunter. I think – I would prefer to be a house husband though.”

Regis choked on his drink, “A _House husband?!_ ” he spluttered

“What?” the Shield demanded, defensive, “I like kids. I could teach them how to take care of themselves, and I know how to clean. I'd _like_ to be there to take care of my wife and children. Dad always regretted that he didn't have time for me when I was little. At least I won't be a failure of a fisherman sleeping on havens because I can't afford a house!” he mocked with a grin.

“You take that back! I'll be the most famous fisherman in all of Lucis! Restaurants will pay me millions for my fish! Right Weskham?! You'll pay handsomely for my best catch of the day?” the Prince demanded enthusiastically.

“I am afraid you won't be paid much for a single fish and a boot, Your Highness,” the Retainer informed him with a false apologetic tone.

Harry nudged Cor a little with his knee as the older men all started squawking and teasing one another, he tilted his head in askance. He seemed to take Clarus' comment a little personally. Was he alright? Blue eyes flickered to him before he grimaced and dipped his head in a vague approximation of an agreement, but could have also been a dismissal.

“What about you? Would you still be a hunter?” he asked quietly.

The Gryffindor shook his head, “Nah. I was actually studying to be a policeman, like my dad, before I ended up here. My head of house even promised to tutor me personally if I ever needed it. But I think she said that because she hated the other teacher in my careers meeting,” he admitted with a grin. “It was amazing, they forgot I was there like ten minutes in and started screaming at each other, I've never seen Professor McGonagall so pissed off.”

Cor stared at him in disbelief. “ _Professor_ McGonagall?” he asked, weirdly stressing the title.

Harry tipped his head, “Yeeeessss? I mean, it isn't really a recognised _subject_ here, closest would be, uh, maybe physics?” He winced a little because, well, transfiguration was most _definitely not physics_ , but it was _also_ the closest muggle explanation for 'we figure out the laws of the universe and then play with them for our own amusement'.

“You had actual _schooling_ -schooling,” the fifteen year old stated.

“...You don't?” he found himself blurting in confusion because, what, no really, _what_? He realised how his words must have sounded the second Cor's shoulders stiffened, “No – I didn't mean it like – ”

He lifted a hand quickly, “I know. No, I don't. We had a school house, but that was basics. I finished everything they had to offer before I was even eight. Grandpa had to start training me then because I kept getting into trouble after that,” he admitted quietly. “He would get books second hand so at least I had something of a decent education.”

“Father had him tested,” Regis interrupted, making the two look up, startled, to see the grins on everyone's faces, “right before making him his bodyguard. Don't let the humble origins fool you, Cor _is_ a genius,” he declared with a proud grin.

“He's certainly more intelligent than you,” Clarus chipped in with a laugh, that turned into a cackle as Regis jumped on him, the two vanishing over the edge of the haven, chair and all, to wrestle in the sand below.

Cor scowled down at his knees, stiff and embarrassed, ears bright pink.

“What about yourself, Lady Auburnbrie?” Weskham asked, cheerfully ignoring the scuffling and yelps and Regis' voice calling for aid somewhere below them. “If you could be anywhere and do anything, what would you wish to be?”

“Witch in the wood,” she declared proudly, and with great amusement as almost all activity stopped on the haven and everyone stared at her. “Set up a lil' cottage sum'where outta th'way, live nice quiet an' peaceful, make my potions, an' if anyone's brave or dumb enough t'come visit, I'll confuse th'hell outta them, sell them my potions, tell 'em scary tall tales, with some true ones thrown in t'keep 'em guessin', an' send 'em off on quests too,” she explained with a wide grin.

“That's, uh, certainly imaginative,” Weskham admitted, keeping his words diplomatic even though 'what the actual fuck' was practically written in capitol letters across his face.

“I know you can slap daemons out of existence, but I'd have to veto that idea,” Harry pointed out with mixed amusement and exasperation, “Unless you plan on becoming nocturnal, but then you won't get any customers because no one but us is dumb enough to wander around Eos at night so casually,” he explained with a laugh.

“Says you,” she declared loftily, waving her fork around.

Harry snorted, “You'd scare all your customers off! You're worse than a Royalisk during nesting season when you get woken up. No one would stick around to buy anything as soon as you left the house!” he laughed.

“An' that's why _you'll_ deal with 'em,” she declared with a grin as she reached down and pinched his cheek, “We'd get _tons_ a'repeat customers!”

“Ah! Leggo!”

“Well, ya got _one_ guaranteed already,” Cid declared from his lounger, grinning like a bastard, and eyeing the youngest present.

Cor went _bright_ red, even under his tan, and spluttered furiously, looking like he would have loved nothing more than to attack him the same way Regis and Clarus had gone for each other barely a moment beforehand –

only to yelp as a pair of hands appeared from the darkness behind him, grabbed his arms, and yanked him off the haven.

Harry yanked himself away from Kimya in alarm, only to squeak as Regis suddenly appeared below, grabbed his arms and yoinked him off the haven with a cackle.

He wheezed as he was unceremoniously thrown over the Prince's shoulder, listening to Cor curse out Clarus' entire family line, the man himself, his skill with weaponry, his stupid tattoo, and his dumb hairstyle, even as the Shield grunted and squawked in pain, obviously having a much more difficult time with him than Regis was having with Harry who was just too _confused_ to do much of anything before he was swung – like a sack of potatoes, off his shoulder and into something an awful lot darker than the beach.

He was caught under the armpits, and his feet hit water and sand, a second before there was a burst of light, and what light there was, vanished, behind car parts.

“What the fuck, you bastards?!” Cor snarled, gently righting him, before slapping a hand curiously against the mountain of junk blocking them in – a cave?

Harry peered around them in confusion.

Yes, they were in a cave. A surprisingly well lit cave for one that had just had the entrance blocked actually. Sure it was gloomy, and rapidly getting darker with the setting of the sun, but it was no where near as dark or as _cold_ as even the Forbidden Forest could get. He ignored the swearing from the fifteen year old, and the heckling of his friends outside as he followed the water to the back of the cave, and found another opening, this one leading to the back of the haven, the side that their tents were facing away from.

He headed back in, and grabbed Cor's hand.

He started, looking at him with wide eyes. Harry just pressed a finger to his lips and tugged him along after him. Thankfully, he followed without objection, or noise, and the two returned to the haven where the rest of the group looked at them in surprise. Harry just shrugged. They could all still hear Regis and Clarus laughing and taunting the empty cave behind them.

Cid snickered and Weskham could only sigh and shake his head.

“Not too bright, are they?” Kimya asked quietly in amusement as Harry retook his seat – this time further forward so there would be no further _grabbing_ incidents.

“No. They're really not,” Cor grumbled. But he didn't look unhappy about it though.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry&Cor: *chatting quietly, actually making friends*  
> Retinue: *WATCHING* HURR HURR
> 
> \---
> 
> Alright guys, it's time for a beach episode AND ALL THE ASSOCIATED SHENANIGANS THAT COME WITH IT BECAUSE WE NEED SOME WIND-DOWN CHAPTERS AND LOLS


	23. Chapter 23

Despite it taking almost twenty minutes before the two adults got concerned about the silence in the cave to actually look into it (and then panic over it being empty until they followed it around to the other opening), everyone still managed to eat dinner and go to bed at a reasonable hour. But Harry was a growing boy, and not even dawn itself glaring in his face was enough to wake him in the morning if he didn't want to be awake. He just dragged yesterday's t-shirt over his eyes and went back to sleep, much to Kimya's amusement.

Clarus's angry yell was, however, more than enough to get him up and out of the tent in time to see Cor bolt out of their shared tent, leap off the haven, and book it, the Shield crashing out of said tent, covered in sand, and little red bite marks, he also had shaving cream up one side of his face and in one hand.

What on _earth_ -

the man bullrushed past him and launched himself off the haven to chase the other fifteen year old.

“ – I hate to ask,” Weskham sighed as Kimya giggled, clamping a hand over her mouth.

“A'course. Always room fer another one,” she declared with a smile, “He still not fergiven 'im about Harry?” she asked, folding her arms, obviously unaware that he was on his hands and knees poking out of the tent.

Weskham, equally unaware, shook his head, “No. He's taking what petty revenge he can to show his displeasure. For the most part Clarus has accepted it with good grace, but I think the sand-fleas may have been a step too far.”

“So was chokin' my boy,” Kimya pointed out with _vicious_ acidic sweetness, “fer not wantin' t'kill a man. Y'all'll have t'fergive me fer not bein' sympathetic t'his plight.”

“You're _still_ upset about that?” he blurted in surprise, making the two jolt and turn to him as he peered up at them.

“Wha- Catnip, _a'course_ I'm still upset about it! I'm madder than a gaiatoad on a hot griddle!” Kimya exclaimed.

He climbed out to his feet, “But – he apologised. And it was an accident, it's fine, really! At least he didn't do it on purpose,” he pointed out reasonably. And to him it was perfectly reasonable. Accidents happened, Clarus did not _mean_ to grab him by the neck, admittedly he didn't stop, but all that meant was that Harry had to stay out of arms' reach and keep an eye on him, no big, standard adult protocol in all honesty. But judging by the looks on both Kimya and Weskham's faces, it was _not_ reasonable, and they were now upset with something he'd said. He sighed, “Look, it's not the first time. And it probably won't be the last. Like I said, at least he didn't do it on purpose. Cut him some slack.”

Kimya spluttered in outrage, “Not th'first – what'd'ya mean it won't be th'last?! Damn straight it's gunna be th'last!”

“There's literally no way to make sure it never happens again,” he pointed out calmly. He still had to live with Vernon Dursley and attend Hogwarts. There was a high chance that someone was going to choke him out again, at least this time it was an accident. Which was somewhat novel in all honesty, a genuine accident. Wow. And it was the one incident that everyone got the _most_ upset about. “It was an accident. I'm not angry, I'm not even hurt. It – upset me at the time, sure. But that was pretty much _everything_ hitting a head. Everything. From when I first landed in the Vesper before we met to now. Literally everything,” he explained, taking her hands. “He's apologised, it's done, incident over. I'm not even angry, and he doesn't scare me. I'll just... keep my distance when he gets irritated. It's fine. Standard plan of action,” he assured her, and then winced a little when the yelling in the distance reached a loud enough volume for them to hear.

A quick glance over showed Clarus physically throwing Cor into the ocean from the pier, the fifteen year old quick changing to his swimming trunks before he hit water.

He eyed the Shield's facial expression before wrinkling his nose. “I should tell Cor to lay off too. Before he gets angrier,” he muttered before giving Kimya's hands a squeeze and smiling briefly at her. He let go to crawl back into their tent in order to get his glasses on, and change out of his night clothes – and if it put him out of sight and reach when Clarus returned to the haven then all the better. Especially when he looked like that.

What should he do today?

Well, first he had to talk to Cor, get him to stop harassing Clarus before he got worse than a toss into the ocean for his troubles.

His weapons were clean, Clementine was off searching for 'delicious orbies' and would return in her own good time, with the exception of his underwear he wore while swimming yesterday his clothes were clean, he _could_ work on translating the texts from the last three doors but, he didn't particularly want to right now, to be honest. In fact, he wanted to build a sandcastle.

He'd never made one before. Just once in his life, he'd like to build one. Even if it was crappy.

He pulled on his 'swimming' clothes, and a long sleeved shirt because he didn't have suncream and didn't want to burn like a – well, like a Brit on holiday. Which technically he was, but he didn't really want to look the part, or find out if he had inherited a ginger's ability to burn from his mother.

When he left the tent, Kimya was further down the beach with both Clarus and Regis, it looked like they were sparring – she was throwing them around like ragdolls. Skilled with weapons they were, not so skilled with their fists, or perhaps they were a bit weird about hitting women even in a sparring match? Some people were like that. Cid was brewing some coffee, and Weskham looked to be having a few quiet words with Cor, telling him off by the look of it.

“Ah, Harry,” the Retainer called, spotting him. “Could you do me a favour? I've already cleared it with Kimya, but could you clear a bit of space in your tent for Cor to share? I think it best there be some _space_ between him and Clarus for now,” he explained with a small disapproving frown at the fifteen year old who only folded his arms and frowned haughtily at him. Clearly seeing absolutely nothing wrong with his actions, and refusing to feel bad about them even when told off.

“Sure. Go grab your stuff,” he told the taller boy before heading back inside to shove his bedroll aside to make space. Both he and Kimya had bought a slightly larger tent than they needed with the mind that they would be on the road a lot, and having more space would be the better idea, in case they got caught in a storm and had to stay inside longer than anticipated. But it was still going to be a squeeze having three people in there. It wasn't the tallest of structures, and with three rollmats there would be no space, so Harry pulled them down a little to make room at the head for their belongings. He put his in the middle, figuring that either Cor or Kimya might get a bit uncomfortable sleeping next to each other.

He shifted to sit on Kimya's bedding as Cor ducked in, dragging his stuff and took in the arrangement with a bit of hesitation.

“I hope you didn't bring any of those sand-fleas,” Harry warned him, “Or you can sleep outside,” he added with a grin.

Cor snorted, “No. Clarus' sleeping bag only.”

“Speaking of,” Harry muttered, making the fifteen year old pause where he was unrolling his own mat, “You probably shouldn't antagonise him too much.”

“What?” he asked, stunned.

The Gryffindor shrugged, “Clarus. It was an accident. He's already apologised. If you keep bothering him you might get worse than thrown off the pier next time,” he warned seriously. Sirius could get pretty nasty when he hit his flash point, Ron's broken leg could attest, Snape's near-death experience with Moony too, to say nothing of what happened with Pettigrew both before Azkaban and after. Hermione has a nasty flashpoint, and she could be _vindictive_ with it, Marietta would always have that curse on her face, it was tied to the broken faith of the DA's contract, then there was keeping Rita Skeeter in a jar for a year. Ron's was lower, and he would pounce and punch first before he could think of anything more violent to do, though absence of that, he was known to throw potion ingredients at people (a crocodile's heart at Malfoy once).

“He's not going to hurt me,” Cor stated flatly. Completely certain.

Harry wished he had that kind of faith. “Everyone has a breaking point. But alright. Just. I'm grateful, but, he's apologised already, and I've accepted it. There's no need to take it further. It was an honest mistake.”

He scowled, shoulders tensing, “He left _bruises_ around your neck. I could see individual fingermarks. He knows _better._ He should have let go or stopped the second he realised. There are mistakes, and then there's _that_.”

“He's apologised, and he meant it,” Harry pointed out.

“That's not the _point_ ,” Cor snapped, struggling to keep his voice down so as not to air their entire conversation to people outside. He dragged a hand through his hair in distress, “If – if _Ezma_ hit you by accident, if she lost her temper because – because whatever. If she hit you because she was angry, and apologised after because she didn't mean to, you'd accept it?” he demanded.

He snorted, “Like that woman ever apologised for hitting me anyway. But yes. If she was genuinely remorseful, then I would accept it.” Accidents happened, people fucked up and then felt bad about it. He could decide to forgive them, or he could continue holding onto his own negative feelings and hatred and end up someone like Petunia Dursley or Snape, or worse, Voldemort, who held onto his childhood hurts and pain and used it to destroy lives and families – it was just easier to let it go. Less painful.

Cor's face was a picture of absolute horror. It was actually the most emotive Harry had ever seen it.

“You are an abusive relationship waiting to happen – _Weskham!_ ”

“Ugh, fine, on your head be it,” he snapped irritably. He can enjoy the punch to the face that Clarus gives him next time he pisses the man off and Harry would have _zero_ sympathy for him.

“What is it?” the retainer asked, alarmed as he practically bulldozed into the tent. “What's wrong?”

“Him,” Cor pointed at Harry who scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I – pardon?” the retainer asked, peering between the two. Harry eyed him, and the tent flaps behind him, wondering if there was enough space for him to get out if he moved quickly enough, if Weskham would catch him before he managed it. The man shifted, blocking him without even looking, and he tch'ed in annoyance. “Could you explain, Cor?”

He gestured aggressively, and helplessly, “He's an abusive relationship waiting to happen!”

“Fuck you, asshole!” Harry snapped.

“You do know how stupid you sound, right? Forgiving someone for hurting you just because they say sorry and sound like they mean it, that's how these things _start_!” the fifteen year old retorted hotly, becoming animated.

“What, so I shouldn't accept any apologies ever?” Harry asked scathingly.

“That isn't what I said!”

“Sure as shit sounded like it!”

“Alright, alright! Enough you two!” Weskham called, spreading his hands between them as if to hold them back from each other. They settled back in sullen silence, and the Retainer shifted forward a little so he wasn't half in and half out of the tent opening and got himself comfortable. “Now, let's – try this again. What makes you think that Harry is at risk of being in an abusive relationship, Cor?”

Ass Face sucked in a breath, paused, scowled, and forced himself to settle back and sit cross legged. “We were talking, he told me to stop bothering Clarus because he'd apologised about _choking_ him. That it was a mistake. Wesk, I could see individual fingers, you don't leave marks like that unless you want to _hurt_ someone, unless you're using enough force to potentially crush their neck.”

“All the more reason not to antagonise him, idiot!” Harry snapped sharply.

Ass Face bristled, only for Weskham to lift a hand to silence them both again. “Harry.” The Gryffindor subsided with a mutinous glower, feeling Ass Face watching him from the scant three feet between them. “Continue.”

“I told him that it wasn't the point. That Clarus is better than that. That he doesn't make _mistakes_ like that. He told me to drop it because he apologised and he meant it. I asked if he would forgive Ezma for losing her temper and hitting him if she apologised, he said yes – but also said she'd never apologised for hitting him before now!” he added suddenly furious. “Weskham, he's seriously – he's a danger to himself with that kind of attitude!”

“Oh I don't know, might be more of a danger to _you_ right now,” he grit out, hackles up.

All he'd wanted to do today was build a fucking sandcastle. And now here he was, being told that he was going to be the victim of an abusive relationship in the future because he accepted an apology and told him to back off from someone with a temper. The actual fuck.

“Harry,” Weskham began, his expression was a study in careful neutrality but Harry could read the sudden alarm and concern he was careful to keep hidden and felt a sick swooping sensation of anger in the pit of his stomach. Even _Weskham_ thought he would be a fucking victim.

“Don't bother,” he snapped coolly, “In fact.” Faster than either of them could react he snatched Ass Face's sleeping bag from the floor beside them and launched it over Weskham's head and out of the tent. “Since he's so certain that pissing off the guy that weighs twice as much as him is a fantastic idea, he can go right back to sharing tent space with him.”

“Harry – ” Weskham tried, reaching for him, only to jerk back a split second later when Harry slapped his hand down hard enough to almost slam it into the floor.

“You all seem to think I'm some pathetic helpless stray,” he hissed, glaring at them both. “Too naïve or stupid to take care of himself. Incapable of reading people around him to know who to stay the fuck away from.” He glared icily at Ass Face, “Just because I forgive, doesn't mean I _forget._ ”

Vernon never managed to get his hands around Harry's neck after the first time save for that one afternoon when he was caught by surprise. Petunia never managed to hit him after that first time, no matter how surprising her attacks were – whip the frying pan out of the washing up to try and brain him? Better luck _next_ time. Lock him in the cupboard without food for a week? Not happening twice. None of them would ever learn about the cereal he had hidden under the floorboards. Dudley and his gang never caught him in the same place twice, never caught him with the same tactic twice either.

Ass Face looked less than an inch away from ripping his hair out, “Past experience says _otherwise!_ ” he practically shouted, “You almost got assaulted in Lestallum!”

“So I'm supposed to think everyone I encounter has some kind of ulterior motive for being nice?!”

“When you look like _that_ you do!”

Harry bristled, “What the fuck does THAT mean?!”

“ENOUGH BOTH OF YOU!” Weskham roared, slamming a hand down on the tent flooring between them, causing the two to flinch back out of sheer surprise. “Cor, a little more trust in Harry's ability to discern his own wellbeing and relationships. If you see something amiss, by all means, bring it to his attention. But he is a young man with his own thoughts and desires. _You_ would not take well to people insinuating that you could not make decisions for yourself, perhaps show that same consideration to others,” the Retainer lectured sharply, making the swordsman's eyes go wide and then look down partially in shame and partially in frustration. “Harry, there is no need to snap and snarl at people showing legitimate concern. Could he have chosen a better way to word it? Certainly. But his concern is well founded. Lucis is a very different place to your own country and already there has been multiple culture clashes. Perhaps there is a culture of forgiveness in your home, but such values are not here. I will leave those decisions up to your discretion, but do bare them in mind. As for what Cor meant by your appearance, am I correct in assuming individuals with pale hair colours and larger builds are considered more aesthetically appealing in your culture?” he asked flatly.

Harry grimaced a little, “Not by much but yeah. Everyone in the Retinue would be considered magazine worthy in appearance.”

“And yourself?” Weskham prompted.

“Scrawny speccy little git; too pale, too thin, too short, _runty_ ,” he listed, and then smiled thinly, “Should have been drowned at birth got tossed around a bit too.”

The full body flinch from both of them was worth rehashing some of Aunt Marge's more disgusting vitriol.

Weskham nodded as though he expected it, even as he looked almost physically _pained_ by the words Harry had just uttered. Ass Face looked alarmed and completely bewildered, like someone had just told him the moon landings were fake and that Australia was a conspiracy because the world was flat.

“Harry. In Lucis, your appearance is considered the ideal,” Weskham informed him plainly, making the Gryffindor pause and frown at him. “Insomnia covets such aesthetics as well for its similarity to the Lucis Caelums', dark hair, pale skin, and a more delicate, or _refined_ , bone structure is considered incredibly attractive. Such values have bled out into Lucis as a whole as well, with some interesting values to them. You have seen the ladies of Lestallum, yes? The majority seem to find smaller partners more desirable, couple that with your hair, eyes, and the very clear bearing of a hunter, you tick the majority of boxes that one would consider when looking for a partner out here. Attractive, wealthy, and capable of protecting oneself and others. In complete honesty,” Weskham told him with a wry twist of his mouth as Harry gaped at him in disbelief, “I am surprised more people have not propositioned you.”

He made a noise, he had no idea what the noise was, just that it sounded like a dishwasher backing up. Or a food processor jamming.

Either way it did nothing to drown out Ass Face's irritable scoff, “He wouldn't _notice_ if they did.”

Harry snapped his head around to glare at him only to pause.

“...Do you two smell burning?” he asked suspiciously.

The other two paused, sniffed the air, and then blanched.

Immediately all three of them dove for the tent opening, to find Clarus cheerfully stood beside the campfire, torching the bottom half of Cor's sleeping bag with a bottle of something that smelt wickedly alcoholic in his hand that, upon seeing them watching, he proceeded to cheerfully douse the remains of said sleeping bag with and watch it go up entirely in flames.

“CLARUS!” Weskham yelled, scrambling out of the tent, “What the Daemons do you think you're doing?!”

He swigged from his bottle with a benign grin that made Harry immediately snap a hand out and _stop_ the fifteen year old from following the retainer out of the tent. That was the same look Uncle Vernon sometimes got before he grabbed whatever was closest to hand and _threw_ it at his head. That same placid almost careless smile that made all the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand straight.

“Well, I was thinking that, since _I_ don't have a bed tonight, it's only fair that the one responsible doesn't either. And since his sleeping bag was _right_ there, I figured why not? He can get a new one at the next town along with me,” the Shield declared with forced cheer, swigging from his bottle and then grinning down at them, “Maybe a few nights without a blanket'll teach him to respect other people's belongings?” he suggested happily before meandering away, swigging his drink, skin covered with angry swollen red welts.

Harry winced at the awkward silence that followed, “I take it back,” he muttered, “You're _definitely_ staying in here. I have some furs that'll do for a blanket if it gets cold.”

“He isn't going to hurt me,” Cor grunted, watching his sleeping bag burn with a conflicted look on his face.

The Gryffindor tightened his grip on his shoulder before shifting to rub his back in commiseration, “Maybe not. But he's definitely going to make your life hell.”

Tellingly, he didn't even try to deny that.

 

* * *

 

The sleeping bag was completely unsalvageable, and they were forced to burn the rest of it for lack of anywhere to put the remains – it wasn't fit to be buried because it wouldn't decompose. Instead, Harry dragged out the Elder Coeurl fur for him to use along with one of his own blankets. Harry was one of those people who couldn't stand being in a sleeping bag because he needed to be able to kick his feet out, he couldn't stand being unable to comfortably wriggle or bend his legs.

Setting up the fifteen year old's sleeping space did however give Harry an idea of what to make for his birthday. He gave passing thought to a blanket but new immediately he didn't really have enough material, and Ron while he was used to it, would get a little iffy with second hand presents if he knew the person giving it to him had the means to _not_ give second hand. He figured Cor might be the same and view it as a slight, like, his friendship wasn't worth spending money on. However, with no settlements near-by, it meant that _making_ said gift was the name of the game right now. And one look at Cor's pillow decided it for him. It was a deflated and sad thing with barely any padding and was probably about as effective a pillow as a twice folded towel.

Sleeping space set up, the two teenagers retreated to the beach – on the other side of the small sandy cove to Clarus who seemed to be doing _something_ that involved a lot of digging with Regis – where Harry set about building the sandcastle he wanted to build, and Cor explored the rock pools a little further to the left of him. Cid eventually joined Harry and between the two of them the pile of sand Harry had been _attempting_ to turn into Hogwarts actually began to take shape.

Weskham came to get them all for lunch and was appropriately appreciative enough to take a picture of the, actually quite good, sandcastle.

After lunch Regis absolutely had to show Harry something in the shallows, so handed him a set of goggles and a nose clip so they could go diving. Or rather, so Regis could swim to the bottom, and Harry could cling to his arm and flail along after him as the man showed him a sunken ship.

Or rather, a sunken rowboat, Harry decided to himself, eyeing the nose of it. It couldn't have been much bigger than the boats the first years used to cross the lake at the start of the school year, still, it was pretty cool. And an _octopus_ lived in side it, which had Regis shouting all of his air out and needing to return to the surface where he had a freak out about daemons until Harry started laughing and told him that it was just an octopus, not a daemon. Yes, it looked like a mindflayer, but it really wasn't.

They returned to the beach where Regis decided he wanted to show Harry what he had been making all morning.

It was a pit.

One that Regis promptly pushed him into.

“Revenge!” the Prince cackled as Harry scrabbled at the edge, having lunged for the other side. But – loose sand. The edge crumbled beneath him and he dropped down into the pit with a yell, first of alarm, then of pain as he landed. “Tickle my feet will you?” Regis cackled above, “Vengeance!”

“Bastard!” Harry shouted up at him, shaking his fist even as he couldn't help but grin a little in the face of his giggling.

“Oh don't you worry, I'll get your little kitty too, revenge will be mine! Muahaha!”

Harry laughed, “Isn't he _your_ cat though?!” he laughed.

Regis snorted, “He'd leave me for you in a heartbeat,” he declared.

“Doubt it,” the Gryffindor retorted in amusement as he tried to get up, only to wince s the bottom of his foot flashed painfully.

“Ah, here he comes now! Cor! You have to see this!!” Regis shouted, moving away from the pit as Harry leaned against the sandy wall to inspect the bottom of his foot.

Blood. Blood and sand and – fuck, he'd cut his foot open. A quick look down and he found the culprit. A nice slab of stone, half buried in sand. He grabbed the edge of it and pulled, not a big thing, but, the size of his hand with a lovely sharp jagged edge. More than enough to slice his foot open when he _landed_ on it.

A second later there was a yelp and a snarl, and a small avalanche of sand landed on him –

followed by Cor.

“VENGEANCE IS MINE!!” Regis crowed above them as Cor spluttered and cursed, and Harry swore, spitting sand as he tried to wriggle out from under him. The two struggled, eventually managing to get out from under each other and straighten up onto their feet. The pit really wasn't big enough for them to sit or lie down in without practically being on top of each other.

“Regis!” Cor thundered.

The Prince grinned down at them, “As punishment for the _treasonous_ crime of tickling my feet, and putting _sandfleas_ in Clarus' sleeping bag, I sentence you two to an hour of timeout, minimum.”

“He set my sleeping bag on _fire!_ ” the fifteen year old exclaimed.

“And he'll be the one buying you a new one,” Regis declared cheerfully before looking over his shoulder, “Now. The grown ups are going to have a very serious talk while you two are in timeout. Behave yourselves, and I'll come get you out when we're done,” he chirped happily, and was gone.

Harry stared after him in disbelief, “Is he usually so... dismissive?” he asked faintly, unsure of how he should feel right now. Amused, or outright insulted? Timeout? Harry had never been on 'timeout' in his life – unless you counted the cupboard his timeout? Well. Being sent to your room counted so maybe... maybe being sent to his cupboard counted as timeout?

Cor scowled at the edge of the pit, “Not normally. He only gets like this when he's actually irritated.” He slumped against the sandy wall behind him and dragged a hand through his hair, “Guess he didn't approve of the sand fleas either.”

“In all honesty, neither did I,” Harry pointed out sitting down on the floor opposite in order to examine his bleeding foot more carefully. Cleaning this was going to be an utter nightmare.

“What happened?” Cor asked, kneeling down in front of him as best he could, eyeing the bloody mess.

“Landed on a stone when I got pushed in. You wouldn't happen to have any water in your pocket, would – thanks,” he said as a canteen was immediately summoned, along with a bottle of disinfectant, and a _toothbrush_. Harry eyed it, and then him with wide eyes.

He grimaced, “You _can_ just straight apply a potion, but it'll _itch_ like _fire_ for the rest of the day until the sand dissolves. It's just faster to clean it and then use the potion – more chance of the sand just washing out with the healing,” he explained as he reached out, paused, waiting for something, and then took Harry's ankle into his lap to clean him up.

The water wasn't so bad.

The toothbrush?

He could have _kicked his teeth in_.

Good thing the potion wiped away the pain as soon as it was applied.

“Better?” Cor asked even as he vanished his supplies away again and got to his feet, holding an arm out.

“Yeah, much. Thanks,” he said as he grabbed the larger boy's hand to get to his feet.

His foot felt fine as he tested it on the sand, a little sensitive, like new skin, but fine. He looked up with a grin and froze.

Cor was _very_ close.

Like, inches away close.

All of a sudden, Harry became _very_ conscious of the fact that they were both half naked, trapped in a dark hole, all alone, and that he had _very blue eyes_.

Eyes that flicked down to his mouth and – oh. Um.

Harry's heart gave a particularly hard thud at the realisation that the last time they were this close, and on their own, they had kissed.

His fingers were very warm on Harry's hand, gentle.

And then he took a step back, letting go, and it felt like Harry had been doused with cold water – the moment gone.

They both looked away from each other, awkward and blushing.

“Where'd you get the scar on your leg?” the fifteen year old asked, ears brilliantly pink.

“Oh. Um. There was a tournament last year at school, I got attacked by a giant spider in the third task,” he explained quickly, latching onto the new subject desperately with both hands. “What about you? That one on your knee, it looks like a burn.”

“It is,” he admitted, the rigid line of his shoulders relaxing – _thank fuck, the tenser he was the more muscle Harry could see and it was_ doing _things to him it had no right to do_. “I accidentally dropped the frying pan when I was younger and cooking. The edge caught my knee before I could move away.”

“Ow. Burns are awful. My cousin shoved me once while I was cooking breakfast and it caused the oil to splatter,” he explained, pointing to the tiny pink dots that patterned up his arm, “Years ago. I've been hoping they'd fade but, no luck yet.”

“I think burns take the longest to fade,” the fifteen year old said before pointing to his chest, “What about that one?”

“Same tournament, earlier task. We had to steal an egg from a dragon. Points were awarded for how you did it, how quickly you did it, how safely, and whether or not you damaged the nest or hurt the dragon,” Harry explained touching the long shallow scar that whipped across his front from just below his collarbone to just above his hip-bone. It had been pure luck it hadn't taken his arm off, if he hadn't lifted it just in time in a desperate effort to dodge, it would have broken or ripped it off. A Hungarian Horntail's spikes were nothing to be sneezed at. “I caught the tail across the chest as I was escaping. Madam Pomfrey fixed me up, but, I've always been prone to scarring. What about this one?” he asked, tapping the other boy's side where a thin white line was barely visible on his stomach.

“Slashed by an Imperial when I was in the army,” he said, touching it. “We made an attempt at seizing some territory in Niflheim, Succarpe, since there was a Royal Tomb there. The locals didn't much like it, and they know the area well. A soldier jumped me during patrol while we were going through the forest. It wasn't too bad, but it took a while before the medics got to me so even with healing magic it scarred. Um, that one?” he asked tapping Harry's bicep.

“Giant snake when I was twelve,” he said before grinning a little, “Remember I said I'd only ever held a sword back then? Yeah. Ron's little sister went missing, and we figured out where she'd been taken. So we snuck into the school basement and through the maintenance hatches for the plumbing until we found her. And the asshole with the giant snake. It chased me until I grabbed the sword and stabbed it through the roof of the mouth but – one of its fangs got me.”

Cor nodded slowly, “And... this?” he asked quietly, hand slipping down to touch at the long slash that Wormtail had made.

Harry swallowed, conscious all over again of how close they were, his thumb smoothing over the scar tissue. His skin was so much warmer than his, both in temperature and colour. Golden tan against maggot white and scar pink. He sighed and ended up leaning forward, pressing his forehead against Cor's shoulder. He didn't want to see his face when he explained this. Kimya and Ezma were bad enough that night in the kitchen.

“...My parents went into hiding when I was born. Dad came from an important family. He... betrayed a lot of expectations when he married my mother, and it made people angry. They were both police officers, and they'd been working on a case against a serial killer, a terrorist. And he targeted them. Their location was known by three people. Sirius, Pettigrew, and Professor Dumbledore. Pettigrew told Voldemort where to find them. Framed Sirius for it. And went into hiding. Last year he took me from school and... gave me that. He wanted my blood but he couldn't use a syringe with only one hand so....”

“He just bled you,” Cor surmised shortly, hand wrapped firmly around his forearm, uncomfortably warm on his skin, just like everything else about him. “And this?” he asked further, smoothing his hand down Harry's forearm to his hand, making him shudder a little, hair standing on end.

“Teacher. This year. She'd make us write lines using this... thing. It would carve what you wrote in the back of your hand,” he admitted roughly, feeling the bones in his own hand as Cor's thumb ran over each bump and line of the words etched into the back of his hand, into his bones, because they were, she made sure of it. Eventually, he knew, she would have had him write through his hand and into his own palm if given the chance.

Like a black maw with nothing but teeth set deep in his stomach, he _wanted_. Just. God. Something. He didn't even know. He wanted _something_ so very much, not a kiss or anything, but, but _something_.

The touch on his back was tentative, but when he didn't move became firmer.

It took a moment for his brain to catch up, but then he huffed a small laugh at the very tentative loose hug he was being given, one with more than enough space for him to step away if he wanted to.

Yeah.

A hug sounded about right.

He wound an arm around the fifteen year old's back and gave him a small grateful squeeze, feeling the arm around his back tighten, before he took a step back, and was _allowed to_.

“Think we can dig our way out before they get here?” he asked trying to hide the strange note of _something_ in his voice.

Cor nodded, “Easily.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're getting there. They are!
> 
> To those wondering about Cor and Clarus, Harry's not been aware of a lot of what's been going on between them since the choking incident. But Cor's been very active in getting his revenge, and unfortunately, the sandfleas were a step too far for Clarus - whom I've decided to make that little bit more miserable about it by making him allergic. Kind of like how I am to ACTUAL fleas.
> 
> If people are wondering what happened right at the end there, that would be the touch starvation kicking in. Go too long without physical contact even if you are touch averse you get PUNCHED with the visceral need for a hug, or just, some kind of contact. But a hug is best, one of those really tight ones that feel like all your sharp edges are being pushed back into place and you're like an actual person again. But again, touch adverse so you try to ignore it. But oh god, it really is like just this empty yawning NEED inside. And it's really frustrating because it can be enough to drive you to tears sometimes because you can't identify what it is that you need/want because actually wanting touch is such a fucking alien concept when it makes your skin crawl under normal circumstances. 
> 
> NEWS: I start my job tomorrow. So the update schedule is going from fifth gear down to third. Maybe even second. Just to warn you.


	24. Chapter 24

“Ugh, fuck this,” Harry growled after the fifth avalanche that threatened to bury him in their efforts to dig their way out. The pit was too deep for them to just drag the lip down and make a slope, so they were forced to dig until the section above it crumbled and collapsed, at which point they then had to dig _that_ away, rinse, repeat. He was going to be digging sand out of his ears for _months_ at this rate.

He could get out easily, it was getting them _both_ out that was going to be difficult. And it was clear that digging was just going to be a pain in the ass.

“Okay. Wait here, I'm going to go get a rope or something,” the Gryffindor declared with a huff of annoyance as Cor stood up in confusion.

“How are you going t _-oof!_ ”

He spared a quick apology, but didn't stop, or hesitate, as he physically climbed the other fifteen year old and used his shoulders as a springboard to get out of the pit, spreading his arms out and rolling in order to prevent causing a mini-avalanche that would just see him back in the damn hole. He straightened up and brushed himself off, “Hold tight. I'll go get a – ”

A knife whizzed past his head and Harry cursed, a split second a blue and white blur flashed in front of him, only to drop to one knee and gag, retching violently.

“You couldn't have waited?” the Gryffindor demanded as Cor groaned and then scowled, flashing him the middle finger as he retched. “Jeez,” he complained, kneeling down and rubbing his back as he heaved miserably. “Are you alright? You didn't react like this last time,” he muttered, using his other hand to check the fifteen year old's temperature. Not that it would have meant _anything_ to Harry because he was always weirdly hot to the touch by comparison, but it – well it seemed like the thing to do?

“I-I'm fine. Shouldn't warp on an empty stomach,” he rasped, back muscles shifting under Harry's hand in thoroughly distracting ways. “Definitely shouldn't do it with an open mouth either. Magic triggers the gag reflex.” He coughed.

Harry boggled, “Magic triggers your _gag reflex?!_ ” he spluttered. Well that was going to complicate any future relations between them.

And immediately wanted to hit himself because _now was not the_ _ **time**_.

The fifteen year old huffed irritably, “No it does _not_. But breathing crystal particulates _does,_ ” he snapped before summoning a bottle of water for himself to wash his mouth out. Harry hummed without commenting, continuing to rub his back even as he straightened up and then stood.

...The temperature had dropped.

“What's wrong?” Cor asked, spitting his water out.

The wind picked up too. Ocean looked rougher. _Darker_. He eyed the horizon, still blue but the clouds were moving surprisingly quickly.

“Storm,” he concluded. He had looked up weather patterns and meteorology in Third Year so that he would know what kind of weather to expect while playing Quidditch matches, and so he could quick advise the rest of the team whether they could hold on a while longer or if they should go for the win ASAP in order to avoid something brewing. “Big one. We should warn the others and secure the camp. Do we know how high the tide gets here? Should we move to the cars?” he asked peering at the Insomnian as he got to his feet.

To his credit, he didn't ask how Harry knew the storm was coming when the skies were still blue and the sun was still hot. Whether it was trust, or if he too could see the same signs that Harry did, he didn't say.

“Right. Cid's been here before. He should have some idea,” the taller teenager stated firmly, shoulders straightening. Harry tried not to be distracted by how it threw his chest out and instead turned away to grab the bucket and spade that Regis and Clarus had used to make the hole so they wouldn't be swept out to sea.

“Ah! You two are on time out!” Regis complained as they hoisted themselves onto the haven amidst their very 'adult' discussion about fishing. Truly, the stuff of triple X-ratings, not fit for the ears of the young and easily impressionable.

“That was before we noticed the storm brewing,” Cor snipped grumpily, eyeing his Prince with a mixed expression of irritation, betrayal, and exasperated fondness. Oh yeah. Melba mentioned that he used to have a crush on Regis. Awkward. Especially considering the age differences and the class differences.

“Do we know if the haven will be safe at high-tide in a storm, or should we move up to the cars?” Harry asked, cutting to the chase quickly and ruthlessly before anyone could butt in about their coming out of 'time out' (and seriously, how much more condescending can you get? Totally grown up enough to go out and risk their lives in war and daemon nests but not grown up enough to be afforded the courtesy of not being treated like half their actual ages? The fuck Regis).

Looks were exchanged.

“The enchantments are fully powered when people are _on_ the haven,” Clarus muttered, looking at Cid who nodded slowly, rubbing his chin.

“There's talk of folk waitin' out earthquakes safely on havens. Not heard'a anythin' 'bout _floods_ ,” he admitted grumpily with a scowl.

“An' if th'storm knocks th'power out'a th'parkin' lights, we'll be in a _lot_ a'trouble,” Kimya chimed in with a frown, and then cast a thoughtful look around them, “We should probably stick around.... if th'tide gets too high or rough, we can move.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Or we could just go to the haven up the road?” he suggested dryly. “It isn't so early in the day that we wouldn't be able to make it.”

Looks were exchanged again, but it was clear that no one was particularly happy with that idea.

He could understand that, it was a lot of effort to pack up the camp, drive to another haven, and then set it all up again – oh wait, no it wasn't, they had _magical pockets and could make all the equipment reappear without fuss_.

He rolled his eyes and shoved the bucket and spade into Cor's arms, “I'll meet you there,” he stated flatly before ducking into their tent to begin packing their things up. Yes it was inconvenient, but he would take that over _drowning_ or getting jumped by daemons in a storm any day, or night as it were.

“He does have a point,” Weskham's voice pointed out mildly, and a moment later Kimya and Cor were crawling into the tent to help him. Cor was quick to whisk things away in his magic pockets as they were packed away and presented to him. Whether the rest of the Retinue were going to stay put on the haven and try to wait out the storm, or join them, Harry didn't know because nothing was actively said within his hearing – not that he was actually paying attention at that precise moment in time, with all three of them in the tent, there wasn't an awful lot of space, and Cor was _very_ close. All the hairs on Harry's arms were stood straight as he tried to ignore the fact that they brushed up against each other far too much to be accidental – right? No, no, he was being paranoid now. Cor had, for the first time in Harry's entire life, been respectful of his personal boundaries and actively tried to avoid contact on more than one occasion.

Everything packed up, they left the tent and began to collapse it. The sky had greyed over by then, and the wind picked up even further, carrying with it a bitter _bite_ that meant tonight was definitely going to be miserable.

Clementine returned around then, hissing about how the cold and wet was going to land on them and she _refused_ to be out in it, pick her up this instant, she was cold. Rolling his eyes he wrapped her around his neck and went back to work securing the guide-ropes so they wouldn't get tangled or knotted before Cor whisked the whole lot away.

Judging from the sounds in the other tent, the Retinue were packing up as well. Probably for the best. The sea looked rough, and the tide was coming in.

The first drips of moisture were felt as they climbed into the truck, and as Kimya turned the ignition on, the heavens themselves seemed to open and heavy grey rain hammered down onto the windscreen.

“Just in time,” Harry muttered grimly sandwiched between Kimya and Cor in the front seat.

“Mmm, lookit that _sea_ ,” Kimya murmured, watching as the grey ocean churned violently below. “Good call about movin', Catnip,” she declared as she put the truck in gear and turned to head up the hill to the near-by Vennaugh haven. They managed to escape the rain for a bit as they went up the hill, and pulled over next to a path that lead up the cliff-side to the haven in question. Halfway through pitching the tents, Cor having taken the Retinue's from the Armiger and pitching it at the same time as Kimya and Harry, as the rest of the Retinue arrived, the rain caught up.

Kimya ducked into the tent to get their beds set up while Harry and Cor finished pitching the Retinue's tent for them. Hammering in the guide-ropes into the rock as thunder rumbled in the distance and the wind picked up to rattle at the canvas.

Tents pinned down, the two teenagers hustled into the tent, dripping wet, and quickly stripped off in the tiny sliver of space at the entrance, too cold and wet to be worried about each other as they dug into their bags for dry clothing. The sky outside lit up with lightning, and the air roared moments later as the storm rolled over them entirely.

Harry shuddered as the tent rippled and writhed around them with the force of the wind howling through the rocky passage below.

“I am _so_ glad we aren't on that beach,” he muttered, dragging his blankets over his shoulders and lap as Kimya lit a small portable camping stove in the clear space in the centre of the tent and put a kettle on top of it. Cor grunted in agreement beside him, rubbing a towel over his head before handing it to Harry so he could dry his own dripping hair. “Thanks,” he sighed, freeing himself of his glasses and roughly scrubbing his head dry.

“Looks like it's gunna be soup an' crusty bread fer dinner t'night boys,” Kimya announced cheerfully as the tent rattled around them again.

 

* * *

 

The night was bitterly cold, enough so that he dragged out the Elder Coeurl furs to spread out over everyone as the rain hammered down on their tent and the wind threatened to try and rip it up off the haven. He wasn't even going to deny that he was glad Cor had decided to join their tent because the guy was _literally_ a living furnace and Harry was in no way ashamed to take advantage of that fact. Even Kimya huddled in close during the night when the chill _really_ set in.

All things considered, he actually slept pretty well despite everything.

No nightmares for a change. Or rather, none that he remembered having. Kimya told him that he was prone to them, but he often didn't remember them. He worried that he'd woken her, but apparently he had gotten that screaming and shouting in his sleep problem beaten, even if the nightmares hadn't stopped. But as long as they didn't disturb anyone else and he actually managed to get some decent sleep, he didn't much care. It wasn't like he remembered them enough to be bothered by them either.

He woke when everyone else decided to get up, Kimya cheerfully whisking all the blankets off him, exposing him to the cold. He hissed and scrunched himself into a ball with a groan and a curse as she laughed at him.

“Up ya get, lazy bones!” she crowed. He cracked open an eye at her, scowled, and then pointedly grabbed her pillow and used it as a blanket, it covered most of him if he stayed in the ball. She squawked even as he heard a faint huff of laughter from the otherside of the tent a moment before the pillow was whisked away as well – and then brought down on top of him. “Up! Up! Up!” Kimya commanded, hitting him with the pillow over and over again.

“Nrgh, g'way, 'm'a growin' boy, need sleep,” he complained, shielding his head from her fluffy assault.

“It's comin' up ten a'clock, Catnip! Yer gunna sleep th'day away!”

He caught the pillow under one arm and then rolled over on top of it so she couldn't hit him with it anymore, “Good,” he grunted, only to squeak and practically launch himself away from her when she dug her fingers into his side, tickling him. “KIMYA WHAT THE HELL?!” he yelled only to have her _land_ on him, hands immediately reaching for his sides.

“You're _ticklish!_ ” she cried with delight .

Cor outright laughed at them, staying well clear of the madness in the far corner.

The rain was still coming down fairly hard outside, but at least the thunder and lightning had stopped. With no reason to go outside, it ended up being a quiet enough day that Harry finally decided to start translating those pages. One gave details about the twenty four messengers, he was shocked to see _Odin_ amongst those listed, almost as much as he had been to hear of a 'Shiva' amidst the Hexatheon when Kimya explained it to him many months ago. Each of the gods had four dedicated Messengers according to the scriptures, they were both to protect humanity and convey the will of the gods onto them. Which sounded exhausting when he thought about it, when only four people in existence could understand what your King was saying, things could get messy. Like the worst game of Chinese whispers.

The other detailed of the Astrals _arrival_ on Eos.

That.... threw him, for a moment.

The Astrals were fucking _aliens_.

Surely.... surely he translated that wrong.

“What's wrong?” Cor asked, peering over his shoulder as Harry scratched his head and began to sift through pages.

“I think I've made a mistake because... that can't be right,” he muttered. Or could it? What did he know about Eos, Astrals, or gods? Earth had being that muggles mistook for gods all the time (Jesus was a wanted criminal and considered a historical menace for his actions, to say nothing of the Greek Pantheon, at least the Norse had the excuse of grasping for the first excuse they could think of that the muggles that _found_ the frost giants would accept), and others were outright made up, some were fairy-tales that got out of hand, and some.... some had a grain of unsettling truth but had never been proven.

Cor hummed, “You said you'd teach me, if I wanted....” he reminded, making Harry pause and look up at him. Green met blue, and the fifteen year old looked down, ears going pink, “I do. Want to. Maybe between the two of us we can... figure it out?” he suggested awkwardly.

Harry smiled and scooted a bit closer, “Got a notebook and pen?” he asked and a moment later both objects were in hand. Harry tore out his old notes, the ones he had transcribed and laid them out. And they got started. He would say this for the Insomnian, languages may not have been his forte, but he was definitely smarter than Harry: he picked it up almost as quickly as Hermione would have as he explained it. He took them through sentence structure and the particules that dictated possessives, objects, locations, times, people, etc – what remained once he had that down was teaching him the actual words.

Harry tried not to be jealous.

Some people got all the luck. Intelligence, strength, looks, _height_ , sure he had the personality of a concussed housecat but that could be cute in its own awkward way, sometimes. Why the hell he was interested in _Harry_ of all people... Scrawny angry Hunter Harry, too short, too skinny, all knees and elbows, maggot white skin, patchy knotted scars, coarse wild hair that hadn't been a brush in.... too long, and the personality of a bear with a sore head. Yeah, great combination all of that.

The rain continued to come down without pause, or sign of lightening up.

Kimya sewed a couple of tears in her clothes and organised what food they had left, before getting her apothecary kit out and starting to mix and grind and press. They had sandwiches for lunch, and Harry eventually dragged a blanket over his shoulders when the temperature began to drop again. Dinner was more soup, and, despite spending the day lazing around learning Latin, Cor was the first one to crawl into bed. Unsurprising actually, thinking about it, he looked like he hadn't slept much the night before.

It was convenient for Harry because it actually gave him the time to make his birthday present for the next day. He tore up an old t-shirt and sewed it together with a square of the elder coeurl fur, working carefully by lantern light. It didn't take very long to sew the two together properly, he had been repairing his own clothes for longer than he could remember and he was actually pretty decent at sewing, terrible eye-sight aside. He stuffed them with feathers and then sewed the opening shut before hiding the whole thing in his back so the fifteen year old wouldn't find it until it was time. Kimya seemed to find the whole thing adorable, but she kept quiet and continued her own work, a wide smirk on her lips.

Harry left her to it, tired himself as he stretched until his back cracked. He got changed and crawled into his bedding to sleep with a muttered goodnight to the older woman.

Only to wake up, shivering with cold, his blankets stolen, in the dead of night.

Kimya had rolled over in her sleep and taken them all with her. Bitch.

He huffed through his chattering teeth and drew himself up into a ball, tucking his head on top of his elbow and dragging his pillow on top of himself to cover as much as possible. He was used to being cold, the Dursleys certainly weren't going to waste money having the heating on downstairs in the night during winter, and it wasn't like his cupboard was insulated. And while Gryffindor Tower was quite cosy, the rest of Hogwarts was decidedly _not_. He could handle cold.

He took several deep breaths, trying to control his breathing and shivering so that he could drop off again, but it just wasn't happening.

He was an inch away from just getting up and dressed when there was a rustle, and the edge of a warm blanket and sleeping bag were tossed over him, an arm following shortly, going around his waist and up his back, sliding him easily across the tiny sliver of space between them and under Cor's bed covers properly.

If he hadn't been shivering so badly he probably would have gone stiff with surprise. As it was, he couldn't even muster up any embarrassment when he took the action as an invitation to squirm in as close as he physically could to the human furnace. Fuck being ashamed or embarrassed, Cor was _warm_ and he was freezing his bollocks off. If he was kind enough to share blankets, he could share body heat too since he was so determined to get his hands on him.

“You're freezing,” the Insomnian whispered in surprise, rubbing Harry's arms and back to try and get some warmth back into his flesh.

“No shit,” he chattered into his neck, burrowing himself down even closer.

Eventually the shivering tapered off, and then he was just warm.

It.... was a bit weird being so close, touching, but it wasn't making his skin crawl so he didn't move. It was weird, and awkward, and a little uncomfortable with how their limbs were arranged – but it was warm, and late. He could have no sooner fought the pull of gravity as he dropped back to sleep, and gladly so.

 

* * *

 

He woke to a chorus of wolf whistles, a movement against him, and an entirely heartfelt groan and curse rumbling up under his ear – but the arm around him did not move, so Harry felt entirely justified in reaching behind him to where his own pillow was sat, and blindly launching it at the assholes that just woke him.

Regis squawked as he was nailed in the face.

Harry then proceeded to drag the blankets up and over his head, snuggling back down with an irritated grunt.

There was a moment of silence, and then twin howls of laughter from the tent opening.

Harry grit his teeth, “Would you mind if I shot them?” he rasped roughly.

“Yes,” Cor grunted, but sounding as though he were considering it the longer Regis and Clarus laughed at them.

“I won't kill them,” the Gryffindor growled, “Their kneecaps are fair game though.”

“No maiming.”

“But it's my birthday.”

“No it isn't. It's _mine_. No maiming.”

Harry twisted his head up to glower at him from beneath his blanket hood, “Not even a little?” he wheedled hopefully.

And he _actually_ wavered before scowling and looking away, “No. Not even a little.”

He was about to say something more when a hand latched onto his ankle and unceremoniously yanked him out from under the covers.

“RISE AN' SHINE, CATNIP!” Kimya exclaimed gleefully before shoving a badly wrapped gift at him once he'd wrestled himself free of the blankets to cuss them out, cutting him off neatly at the knees. He stared at the badly wrapped gift in its brown paper and then up at her in bewilderment, she leaned forward and smacked a kiss to his forehead before turning to Cor and passing him a package of his own, “Happy Birthday, Cor. Star's Blessings on you this day,” she told him kindly as he awkwardly accepted it from her.

“Thank you, Lady Auburnbrie,” he intoned.

“Pssh, _Kimya_ t'y'all. Ya've earned it,” she declared with a sly look at Harry who blinked at her in confusion. Cor just went pink and ducked his head down to stare at his gift.

“Come on outside!” Regis exclaimed, “We've all got presents and Weskham's cooked up a storm while you two were _cuddling_ ,” he added salaciously with a completely immature giggle.

Cor launched an orange at him, bouncing it off his forehead, sending the Prince reeling.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh this chapter gave me so much difficulty lol
> 
> New job is going well, I'm really enjoying it, my leg is giving me a bit of grief because I don't have an appropriate footrest, but we're working on that. And, fun fact, you guys know I used to work catering? Well, after my last job fell through, I was luck enough to get recruited to do security at the same location where I used to do catering (my clearance was still good so I was able to start literally immediately). I learned what had happened since I left. The supervisor that basically gave me depression and anxiety got suspended for losing her rag at the catering manager, she's on her final warning now and has to toe the line and be civil for a year. She's not going to make it. The atmosphere in the kitchen is atrocious. I mean, I thought things would calm down when I left but NOPE. It actually all went to shit. Like, unbelievably to shit. I did not even once think that my leaving would have such a negative impact on things but hey, surprise, a reasonable human being working 40+ hours a week leaving does actually have an impact.
> 
> Only bad thing to happen recently was my Dad's birthday party, which was the reason behind that message on facebook/tumblr saying I was unlikely to be writing. Long story short, I ended up having to use my door supervision training (bouncer training) on my parents when a bit too much to drink was had. It messed me up a bit because I have never known them to be violent to each other in my entire life. But it's.... apparently a thing that happens when alcohol is involved, because there's a lot of negative things festering away in them because they apparently can't sit down and actually TALK to each other. But I digress. Having to see people off the premises, bar my older brother and his kids from going upstairs, seeing them to a hotel, and then standing vigil at the bottom of a flight of stairs for an hour while they argued to make sure it didn't descend to violence, and then have them act like NOTHING happened kind of.... messed me up. I posted those messages barely two/three hours after the fact while I was in full melt-down to my friend over messenger before remembering it was her birthday too, and I had blown her off to go to my parents party, so cue feeling like even more of a bitch for going crying to her on her special day too.
> 
> But I'm not there anymore. I'm in a better mental place now. Hence, ta'dah, story.
> 
> Anyway, now to crawl into bed. I've been fighting a migraine for most of the day and would like to insert my face into my pillow but needed to write, the urge was there, the words were flowing. It needed to happen. But now my skull feels like it's in a vice. Give me nice things to read when I wake up guys lol


	25. Chapter 25

Breakfast was pancakes.

Weskham apologised for not making them properly even as he jiggled the frying pan sized thin pancake onto Cor's plate. Harry, who was already added lemon juice and sugar paused in confusion before he realised that he probably meant to make _American_ style pancakes, or whatever they were called here. The thin pancakes that Harry preferred were typically called 'crepe'-styled ones, why though he didn't know, but he preferred the thinner ones. They went better with lemon juice.

It was only once he was halfway through his breakfast that he realised the others had followed his example with the lemon and sugar, none of them seemingly knowing what to do with their strangely thin pancake until they saw Harry going for both items with single minded focus. Cid didn't seem to be too much of a fan, but then again, Harry was fairly sure he just wasn't a fan of sweet things in general, Clarus was wolfing his pancakes down like he did every other meal but then again he had used some kind of chocolate spread and fruit on his, Regis didn't seem to be too sure of the lemon at first but after the first mouthful was eagerly digging in, Kimya was happily squeezing more lemon juice onto her pancakes to make them more tart than sweet, and Cor had – already finished his.

What? Had he rolled the whole thing up and swallowed it like a snake? Inhaled it like a noodle?

The mental image nearly make him choke in amusement, necessitating a hard clap on the back from Weskham as he passed with his own breakfast to sit down.

It was only once everyone had eaten that Kimya pushed her wrapped presents forward again.

“Open them! Open them!” she gushed, practically bouncing in her seat like a little girl, auburn red-brown hair bouncing.

The two exchanged glances before, in front of everyone, they began to pull the clumsily wrapped paper off their presents. Cor frowned, eyeing it in confusion, where as Harry recognised it immediately. An apothecary box, one of hers. Half wary and half interested, he opened it up, revealing phials of remedies and carefully stored ingredients. A glance over to Cor's showed that she had also included a small palm sized notebook of tied together papers with instructions of how to prepare and store several remedies and how to apply them properly. Something she hadn't bothered with for Harry because his knowledge of potions actually exceeded her own – even if many of the ingredients were foreign to him.

“This way if ya can't get int'ya magic pockets fer whatever reason, ya ain't gunna be without sum quick medical aid,” the woman explained with a bright smile.

Harry hugged her, muttering a quiet thank you. She knew he wouldn't use his magic in front of other people, and the chances of Cor ever separating from Regis for any length of time were slim to none, with this he didn't have to worry about being on hunts. Cor gave his own thanks as he carefully set the box to one side – and then had to fumble in order to catch the bag Cid sent winging at his head.

A new pair of sturdy boots were his present from Cid, which was probably a good thing, Cor had just about worn his previous pair to death. Harry received more notebooks and pens, some of them plain paper, and a small tin with charcoal inside.

“So y'all can take rubbin's if y'need ta,” the old man explained, propping his feet up and getting comfortable in his battered sun lounger. They said their thank yous and Regis bounced over as they set their gifts to one side, his grin immediately making Harry suspicious.

“Happy birthday, you little hellions,” the Prince announced, “Star's Blessings Upon You This Day,” he intoned before practically shoving two exquisitely wrapped boxes at them, both of them audibly clinking as he did so.

Harry tore the paper off to find a beautiful wooden box trimmed with delicate silver fastenings and locks. Opening it up revealed six potion bottles, and four elixers. Next to him, Cor had a similar box, but inside was very different. Tens of little pots of paint and lacquer filled the wooden container, all of them looking as though they came from the _expensive_ art corner of the hardware store that Harry sometimes had to trail Uncle Vernon in.

Clarus chuckled, “Here. Reggie and I collaborated,” he announced, summoning a much larger box that he then proceeded to shove over. Harry eyed it and not for the first time decided that the magic pockets these guys had was just _unfair_. That case was the size of Harry's Hogwarts trunk, and if they were forced to carry it around like a normal person there was no way they'd have been able to fit it in the car. “Sorry we couldn't get you anything more impressive, but, at least it'll be useful,” the Shield continued as he summoned something black to hand and presented it to Harry.

A bullet proof vest, adorned with multiple pockets, pouches, and equipment clips. It was even size adjustable. It would have never fit Clarus, but it was probably Cor's size, and with it tightened up as much as it could go it would fit Harry as well, meaning there was room to grow into it as well.

“Thank you. I honestly – thanks,” he said accepting the vest in surprise. He honestly hadn't expected Clarus to get him anything, the man clearly hadn't thought much of him. He glanced over and saw that inside the now open trunk was wood. All sorts of wood in all sorts of colours and sizes. Large bricks, thin sheets, long shafts, small bricks, and in the roof of the trunk was a kind of canvas pocket filled with sandpaper of various quality and grades.

Weskham chuckled, “It seemed as though we had the same idea,” he declared with a smirk as he summoned a thick cylindrical lumpy package for Cor. Knives, very _nice_ knives, and chisels, picks, and other _woodworking_ tools Harry realised, recognising a few from his Junior School woodworking classes that only the Year Sixes were allowed to do.

“While I can't say it's as exciting as Cor's gift, I imagine it will be of great use to you. A few are mine, so I hope you don't mind the notations in the margins, but others I picked up for you in Lestallum. I just hadn't had the chance to give them to you until now,” the Retainer went on to explain as he summoned a large, wrapped gift for Harry that as soon as he picked it up, knew it was books. And a lot of them.

Pulling the paper away, he paused, staring down at a _guidebook_ of Duscae of all things. It was a little dog-eared, and there was a tea ring from someone's mug on the front of it, leaving a brown streak through the ethereal white arch of the Meteor of the Six. Under it was another guidebook about Cleigne, and Leide. A book on Lucian history, a _dating advice book_ – he went red and looked up sharply at the man.

Weskham only chuckled, “After your run in with the ladies in Lestallum, and that gentleman who got rather handsy towards you, I thought it prudent. So that you may identify when someone has such intentions towards you.”

Harry resolved never to open it, ever.

Under the dating book was another guidebook, this one to a place called Accordo, with a picture of a beautiful city on top of a lake. Harry blinked at it in surprise.

“Mm? Something the matter?” the Retainer asked.

Harry shook his head, “No. Sorry. It just.... Where is this? It looks like a place I know.”

“Altissia, the City of Water. It is the only large settlement in the territories of Accordo. Have you ever been there before, Harry?” the man asked curiously.

He shook his head, “It looks like a cleaner version of Venice. They built it in a lagoon, but didn't realise that the lake bed was just mud. So it's been sinking for centuries and every now and again they have to collapse a building and build a new one on top of it to keep everything above the waterlevel.”

Regis shook his head, “That's poor planning,” he complained making Harry snort.

“The Venicians were more concerned with how pretty they could make things and how much trade they could get from people who were easily impressed by how pretty it was to bother with making structures sound,” he explained as he closed the book and set it aside with the others. “Thanks Weskham.”

“I am glad you like them.”

Cor had an uncomfortable look on his face as he looked at the books before taking a breath and straightening up, he summoned a pair of books to his hands, one thin paperback, the other a bit thicker and hard-backed. “Here. I – you never seem to know what to make of things so I thought... it would be useful. But, Weskham's'll probably be a lot better.”

Harry blinked at him before accepting the two books, the thin paperback was a bestiary, much like Ezma's, but it was _much_ more detailed and had photographs of creatures from even Niflheim and Accordo inside. He had even sketched out Niflheim mechs and dropships and soldier uniforms and ranks onto blank pages carefully stapled into the back, included were also uniforms for the Royal Guard and the Crownsguard and how to identify rank and speciality. The hardbacked book was a photobook, it had a full and complete A3 worldmap folded up in the front with each location of the photographs marked so that you could refer back to it if you were curious.

“Thank you, this is amazing,” he said with a grin, showing it to Kimya, “Once we're finished with the doors we can plan that roadtrip!”

“See the world, huh, Catnip?” she laughed before leaning forward to wrap an arm around Cor's head and give him a hug, and a very loud noisy kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Sugar.”

The now sixteen year old went dark red, hunching up and glancing almost hopefully in Harry's direction, only to pause when he got to his feet and head into the tent. A moment later, Harry surfaced again, and handed him the pillow he had spent most of the previous evening sewing together while he slept.

“Here. Happy Birthday. Your pillow was looking a bit sorry for itself, and I didn't really have anything that would have made a good gift. One side is coeurl fur so it'll keep in the warm really well if you're ever camping out in the cold again,” he explained, as Cor accepted it with wide eyes.

“This is _Elder_ Coeurl fur,” he stressed, running calloused fingertips across the weirdly silky-coarse fur of the wild animal. He then flipped it over and paused, touching the fabric with a very strange look on his face. Harry really hoped he didn't get pissed off about the fact it was one of Harry's t-shirts, he was short on supplies and used whatever he had to hand to make it quickly. People should _mention_ things like birthdays with plenty of time for gift shopping, damnit! “It's... warm. Thank you,” he said, instead of anything else, fingers spreading flat against the t-shirt fabric with an almost perplexed frown on his face.

Harry strained a bit of a smile, “Try not to get it wet. I don't think the fur or feathers'll dry too well.”

“What?” Regis asked with a grin, “No Birthday Kiss? It's tradition, don't you know, Harry?”

“No it is _not!_ Ignore him!” Cor snapped, glaring at the Prince who started cackling, accompanied by Clarus. Even Weskham coughed in amusement while Cid chuckled in his lounger.

Harry arched an eyebrow. “I don't know about kisses, but Birthday Beats are a thing back home,” he pointed out idly, smirking a little when the laughter stopped in confusion and interested disbelief.

“Birthday _what_?!” Clarus choked.

“Beats,” Harry repeated as he gathered up his books from both Weskham and Cor to stack them with Cid's notebooks. “The birthday recipient gets punched a number of times equal to the number of their birthday, usually on the arm or the leg. But sometimes they get picked up and bounced up and down before being thrown into a body of water somewhere.” That was Dudley and his gang's preferred form of Beats. They only ever dared do it to Harry because no one would show up at their houses to bitch their parents out for doing it to their child. He typically steered clear of them as best he could on his birthday after the first time they cornered him on the green after school – they bounced him in such a way as to make sure his back hit the pavement with every downswing, making him cry out in pain, and then they threw him in the stagnant mosquito riddled 'river' through a bush of stinging nettles and brambles. It had been the worst birthday ever, Aunt Petunia had forced him to clean up in the back garden with the hose before letting him into the house. She did, at least, use antiseptic to clean his many cuts and scrapes, and even a little bit of cream for the stings and bites. Ever since then, the only beats Harry let Dudley get away with were the ones he landed on his arm and leg when they were stuck in the car together and he couldn't get out of arm's reach.

“Sounds like fun,” Clarus declared with a toothy grin at Cor who scowled at him, flexing a hand warningly.

Harry arched an eyebrow at the Shield –

and then all hell broke loose.

The Shield lunged out of his camping chair, Harry threw a rock under his foot so he stepped wrong and fell, and the two teenagers bolted from the camp, a nice headstart on the larger man as they sped up the hills and away amidst gales of laughter from the campsite. Clarus bellowing vengeance behind them as he thundered across the earth.

The two slid out of sight and crept around a corner, practically sandwiching themselves into a crack between the rocks, too focused on the Shield as he raced past to pay attention to how close they were – until suddenly they weren't, and Harry felt his breath stall when he became all _too_ aware of it when the Insomnian tensed up against him.

This was a bad idea. Really... really bad.

Harry's mouth felt dry, and his heart was thumping very hard and strangely in his chest. He could feel it pulsing somewhere in his stomach, fluttering in his neck. Cor was warm, pressed in tight against him, hard muscle, soft skin, smelling like honing oil, metal, and unwashed teenage boy. He was conscious all over again of the fact that he was barely eye-level with the sixteen-year-old's chin, he had stubble growing here and there, patchy and pale, his lips were open and soft, and Harry could smell lemon on his breath.

What – no, yes, this was an incredibly _bad_ idea, and he should step away _right now_.

Right now.

Yes.

Right now.

Right... now...

Cor leaned in close, head dipping down, and he couldn't _move_ , his heart jackrabbited in his chest and –

The Insomnian looked away sharply, scowling angrily, and Harry shuddered. All the tension draining out of him like an unplugged sink. The soldier peered out of the tiny crack they were hidden in as Harry practically crumpled against the wall behind him before he carefully slipped out, grabbed his hand, and tugged him along back to the camp in merciful silence. They left Clarus to uselessly look for them in the hills until lunchtime when Weskham's whistle and the smell of cooking food summoned him back – where he saw his quarry settled comfortably in their places. Harry and Kimya on camping chairs, bent over the photobook and a map planning their future world tour, Cor sat cross-legged on the floor leaning against Harry's leg as he carved a block of cedar wood with his new tools, completely absorbed in his work.

Clarus grumbled to see them, but didn't dare approach with Kimya hovering over their shoulders like a protective mother Gryffon, and attempting anything with Cor when he had carving tools in had was a quick way to end up filleted. He accepted his defeat with good grace as Regis drew him into a card-game with Cid at the fold out table. It was a nice quiet day, warm, with a cool breeze. Cid had rummaged an old handheld radio out for some music, Weskham was humming along as he cooked up a storm, the scent of cooking meat and cedar wood in the air, Kimya cooing and exclaiming over all the pictures in his book – they had already reworked their travel plans three times in order to accommodate a new picture she wanted to see in person. Harry didn't mind, her enthusiasm was incredibly infectious, and he would be lying if he said he too wasn't interested in seeing them.

The sun went down and everyone pulled up to the fold out table to eat and enjoy cake, they sang Happy Birthday to Cor despite his red face and how he sank down in his seat to try and vanish from sight at the way the Retinue tried to be as loud, off key, and obnoxious as possible. Kimya planted another kiss on his cheek once they were done, and Regis followed suit on his other cheek while Cor yelped and tried to shove him away in horror, turning an even darker shade of red with mortification. Once all the plates were tidied away to be cleaned later, beers and playing cards were brought out again, and despite their young age, the two teenagers were allowed _a_ can each, and were taught how to play poker.

Weskham and Kimya were bloody _card sharks_.

Regis may have had the best poker face, but those two were Satan with a deck of cards. If they had been playing for money instead of pistachios Harry would have lost everything in his Gringotts Vault, his Firebolt, and his Invisibility Cloak to Weskham, Cor would be homeless, and Regis would have sold half his country to Kimya. They knew Weskham was going to be awful, but _Kimya?_ Harry had seen her in action, he knew better. She had learned poker from her father and was well known for playing against the hunters in the evening at Meldacio. She had fleeced many a young man who thought a pretty, sheltered, little lady such as herself would be an easy mark at the tables.

Harry decided to head to bed when the alcohol got a little freer flowing, and the adults became increasingly loud and rowdy. He doubted he would be able to sleep with all the noise, but he didn't particular want to be around them right now, it was.... uncomfortable. Cor either felt the same or didn't want to be left alone with them as the last sober man standing, and crawled into the tent with him. That was also.... uncomfortable. Because Harry was _incredibly_ aware of what had happened earlier that day and they still had to _sleep_ next to each other and –

He squirmed in his bedding, blushing darkly and scowling at Kimya's empty sleeping bag as he admitted, in the darkest most private recesses of his mind, he really wanted Cor to kiss him again. Like he had in Lestallum. He wanted to drown in it, like last time.

But he didn't want him to, either.

It was complicated.

Harry was going to _leave_. And he didn't want – it would _hurt_ Cor when he left.

It was absolutely unfair to him if Harry agreed to anything, if he let this go any further, if they started going out and doing things, and there was absolutely no chance that Cor would leave Prince Regis just to follow his crush into an unknown world. And if he did, worse still, he would end up _hating_ Harry for it. Hating him for dragging him into his war, into a world where all his training, his military rank, everything he had worked so hard for, was absolutely _meaningless_. If not outright _frowned_ upon.

This would be so much easier if they were just on Earth. If Regis weren't a Prince, or even if he _was!_ It would be better. No war with Niflheim, no Astral-Ordained magic, and even if he were royalty, it wouldn't mean much in the grand scheme of things, Harry didn't think. Even the Princes' William and Harry had gone to school, same as everyone else. He could see it quite easily. Cor would definitely be a Gryffindor, with a name like 'Leonis' there was no other house for him. Regis would have probably attended Hogwarts with Bill or Charlie, and graduated when Harry was in his Second Year, he would have been there for the Chamber of Secrets incident – probably either as a Slytherin or a Gryffindor. Clarus was a Gryffindor, _maaaaaaybe_ a Hufflepuff, but Harry wasn't sure. He definitely had the loyalty, but he did _not_ have the temperament. Weskham was a Hufflepuff, hands down. Cid was a toss-up between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

Mister Weasley would have loved Cid, they could probably spend _hours_ , _days_ even, talking about mechanics. Cid explaining to him what a spark-plug was, the difference between certain kinds of batteries, how electricity worked, the difference between Amps and Volts, Direct and Alternating current. Going to visit the Weasleys would likely involve visiting Cid who, if he allowed it, Mister Weasley would kidnap into his shed at every given opportunity. Missus Weasley would adore Weskham, there would be no escaping their combined mothering. They could swap cooking and cleaning tips, wrangling children – exchanging stories in the evening about the worst thing their respective brats had gotten themselves into, drinking glasses of wine at the kitchen table in commiseration with one another. Regis, god, Sirius would either avoid him like the plague, or latch on with the same desperation he had to Harry, seeking an echo of his bestfriend in the young prince. The two of them would conspire to prank Snape into the next dimension, with Remus and Clarus as long-suffering but eager enablers. Moody would definitely have a thing or eight to talk to Clarus about in-between attempting to wrangle mischievous royals and escaped convicts – _hah!_ As soon as Regis found out about Sirius's situation, goodbye Fudge, hello Internal Investigations, Sirius Black you are a free man, here's the paperwork to prove it.

Cor wouldn't have put up with Malfoy's bullshit the way that Harry had over the years. The blond would have had a sword pommel to the throat before he could even draw a second breath to insult Lily Potter. He would be absolutely disgusted by Umbridge too, he would probably boycott her lessons and refuse to attend, do his own self-study outside of class, and practice on the grass outside the Quidditch pitch. Harry would have joined him, maybe roped him into the DA. Maybe it would have been him that he kissed under the mistletoe instead of Cho? There would _definitely_ have never been a disastrous date to Madam Puddifoot's. He would know that Harry and Hermione were bestfriends, he would _let Harry actually explain_. Would they have gone to the Yule Ball together? That would have been nice, ridiculous, because Harry couldn't dance in the slightest and he was fairly sure he was supposed to lead as the Champion. He would have stepped on the swordsman's toes and looked like a right berk. They'd have probably ditched the dancing as soon as possible and ended up kissing in the rosebushes like Fleur and Roger David had done – and then Harry would have attempted to commit ritual suicide when Snape caught them.

The mental image of him drawing a sword of all things and charging at the Death Eaters that cornered them in the Department of Mysteries, the look of sheer bewildered offence and horror on Lucius Malfoy's face right before he raised his wand –

He jarred away, unsure of when he went to sleep, the tent dark and silent save for heavy breathing, the distant sound of animal nightcalls, Cid snorting in the next tent over, and the occasional shifting of bodies under blankets. His breath shuddered in his lungs as he wrestled a hand free to press against his face, feeling cold wet skin. Fuck.

Fuck. Shit. No.

He pushed himself out of his bedding and silently crept out of the tent, he needed to get away from everyone – he just – he needed to –

he staggered away from the camp, shivering a little in the frigid Leide night air, climbing the hill that overlooked the camp and over into wild scrub. Hiking to the highest point, he just needed a moment, he just had to – had to get away. He didn't want to wake anyone, to bother them. He just needed a minute. He – he –

He wanted to go home. He wanted to go _home_.

But he was beginning to think of Eos as home too, and he didn't want to leave it _either_.

His breath shuddered wetly in his throat and he could feel his hands starting to shake.

Which was, of course, the exact moment that the familiar sound of splashing darkness filled the air, daemons spawning practically on top of him, and he was _tried_ , and _heartsick_ , and just.... _done_.

He didn't have the energy to deal with this right now, the mental or emotional wherewithal to _bother_. Magic gathered in his hand, like Kimya had taught him, and he raked his fingers through the Mind Flayer's head before it could grab him – and he tore its face off, the whole thing bursting like a greasy soap bubble.

He shook his hand off with a soft sigh, the luminous glow of his white-gold magic fading away, and he kept walking. There would be another daemon there soon, they gathered where the miasma was thickest. Killing one would just summon another, much stronger, daemon to replace it until you were either overwhelmed or saved by the rising sun.

Eventually, he came to a stop at the top, where he had a view of the beach, the ocean, the winged island in the distance, and the moon. Thick and full and _bright_. The kind that Remus hated most.

And then he sat, wrapping his arms around his knees, feeling small, and miserable, and alone.

In the distance, Angelgard practically glowed in the moonlight, and Harry realised that... he had already seen more of Lucis and Eos than he had ever seen of Earth.

He dropped his face into his knees, and shuddered.

It was a long time before he got to his feet, wiped his face, and shuffled back to the camp.

No one was awake yet, but dawn wasn't far off. A few hours, and then Weskham would be cooking breakfast fro them all. He crawled into the tent, and curled up in his bedding, trying to get back to sleep. Pausing a little when Cor rolled over in his sleep, one cold hand flopping out to nudge his.

Harry didn't move.

Neither did Cor.

He should pull his hand away. He should. He needed to _stop_ encouraging this. Cor's crush. His own. These feelings. He needed to stop, for his own mental health, his own heart, for _Cor's_. But.... he was weak. He was weak and he was miserable, and he just wanted to go home.

The problem was, his heart wasn't sure where his home actually _was_.

And with Cor holding his hand in his sleep, it was getting harder to tell himself where exactly it was.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on the chapter. Hello new readers, to answer questions: No there is no update schedule for this fic. When I was unemployed, I used to update every day. Now I have a job that pretty much takes me out of the house for twelve hours of the day, I don't get much time for writing.
> 
> Still, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I had a lot of fun writing it, right up until the feels. Aw. Poor bean. Tying himself up into such knots.


	26. Chapter 26

The next time Harry woke, it was early morning, and he was curled up in a familiar nest of blankets. His own, and Cor's tucked in around him.

Cor pulled his hand back from where he had been gently shaking his shoulder, looking blurrily apologetic as he studied Harry's face. “Clarus and I are going to Longwythe,” he explained once the Gryffindor blinked himself awake and rubbed some of the crush from his sore eyes, “Weskham wants you to come with. To keep the peace,” he added with a twist to his mouth that more than conveyed what he thought of that comment, and what it entailed regarding his self-restraint.

Harry yawned, cramming those two in the same car? Bad idea. “Okay. I need to pick some stuff up anyway,” he agreed before stretching out in the blankets with a groan as he felt his leg muscles threatening to cramp. Cor looked away quickly, flushing darkly before he crawled out of the tent with a quiet promise to get breakfast ready for him. Harry felt a pang of dismay and guilt. He hadn't meant to – he needed to be more careful about what he did around the Insomnian. He sighed and dug into his backpack, looking for the least flattering, baggy, clothes he had. Time to start making an effort to dissuade this crush from getting any worse.

Making sure he had his gil cards in his pocket, he crawled out of the tent and gratefully accepted his plate of food from Weskham who seemed to find his propensity to sleep in greatly amusing. Clarus however seemed to disapprove if the shaking of his head was any indication.

“You're gunna sleep half your life away kid,” the big guy scolded.

He shrugged as he dug into his anak sausages and eggs. “I'm a teenager. I need sleep or I'll never get taller,” he explained factually, waving his fork around a little before digging in. Hermione followed a lot of science magazines and sometimes brought the more interesting articles in after summer. He was a veritable fountain of useless information now, thanks to her. And absolutely none of it was useful in the magical world.

The Shield laughed at him, “It doesn't work like that.”

“Sure it does. Plenty of sleep, lots of food, and you get taller. That's how teenagers work,” Harry stated.

“Explain Cor then?” he demanded with a grin.

The Gryffindor grimaced and glowered at the suddenly frozen soldier who looked between the two with wife eyes and trepidation. “Genetics and being a filthy traitor,” he grumbled.

“I was this tall when we met?” he pointed out in confusion.

“Traitor,” Harry declared sniffily, making snorts of laughter go up amongst the rest of the Retinue.

“Don't worry, Harry,” Regis told him happily, ruffling his hair as he passed and trying to steal one of the sausages only to nearly get stabbed with his fork. “Pocket-sized partners are the best. They're far easier to throw over your shoulder and take home like a caveman!” he laughed, dodging the kick Harry threw at him and winking at Cor as he passed.

“Regis!” Weskham scolded. “Do not steal his food! Not when I've finally managed to get him up to eating fully-sized portions!”

Are you fucking kidding?

Harry groaned in disgust and shoved the rest of his food away to go and join Cor at the Regalia.

“So, why are we going to Longwythe?” the Gryffindor asked from the backseat, having opted to take the spot as far out of Clarus's immediate armsreach as he humanly could in the rather spacious car.

“Gotta get new sleeping bags and restock on food,” the Shield explained as he drove them up the road, through the cleared and cannibalised debris of the trashed airships that Harry shot down. Barely a week and the people of Longwythe and the Mines had stripped them of everything of value and were now carving the rest up to sell on as scrap. The people of Leide were opportunistic if nothing else, Harry would have to give them that. Everything seemed to be back to normal as well, there was no increased military presence as they pulled into the tiny town, no sign of Imperials or Crownsguard, no one was paranoid and rushing around, it was as if the attack never happened! They parked up in front of the motel and when they climbed out Clarus made a beeline for the pretty girl manning the item-stand outside the Kenny Crow. Harry meanwhile aimed for the Cutlass can in order to pick up several more magazines of bullets for his quicksilvers, and to see if they had something a little heavier calibre in terms of handguns. Sadly, they did not.

“Here. Eleventh magazine comes free,” the blond currently serving him muttered, blushing hotly as he shoved an extra magazine into the bag with the ones he had already bought. “Can I interest you in a subscription to our Weapons' Monthly magazine?” he asked, studiously avoiding eyecontact, only peeking up at him from under his eyelashes and looking away again just as quickly. “It's – uh – released every month with articles on the newest, best, or most reliable weapons in Lucis, and even details on monster sighting and famous daemon territories. It's only a hundred gil an issue,” he continued semi-enthusiastically, shuffling in place.

He couldn't have been any older than ten.

Harry looked a bit helplessly at Cor because – how the fuck did he handle a ten year old looking at him like that? All he got was an amused smirk and an arched eyebrow, the fucking _traitor!_

He scowled at the Insomnian before looking back at the blushing ten year old who was still only watching him from the corner of his eye. “Thank you, but I'll give it a miss this time,” he said kindly, if awkwardly as he took his bullets. “Take care now,” he said as he turned away and quickly hustled away, Cor in tow, towards Clarus at the item car.

“B-bye!” the little boy called behind them.

Cor chuckled, “Aw,” he teased lightly, and Harry twisted a little as he walked in order to kick him.

“Shush you.”

The soldier hopped a little to the side, out of range, but only smirked at him. “That's something you're going to have to learn how to deal with. You're sixteen now, that's legal out here,” he pointed out in amusement. Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes, at least until Cor bumped him with a shoulder as they crossed the road to Clarus, “Remember what Weskham said?” he asked pointedly with a raised eyebrow.

Weskham said a lot of things, much of them very useful, he was going to have to be more specific- oh. Oh yeah. _That._

Harry shook his head, “I still say bullshit,” he declared bluntly as they came to a stop, only for Clarus not to take a blind lick of notice at them, too busy flirting with the item shop girl who was pink and giggling, batting her eyelashes coltishly at him, arms positioned to best squish her breasts together as she turned this way and that as he loomed over her with a smirk.

“Are you fucking serious?” Cor demanded flatly.

“No, that's my godfather,” Harry quipped absently, watching the two before shaking his head. “I don't think he's going to stop any time soon. Want something to drink? I'll pay,” he offered, gesturing to the Kenny Crow.

Cor glanced over to Clarus, and grimaced in outright revulsion when the man reached out to tuck a strand of the girl's hair behind her ear, making her go bright red and sigh. He nodded in disgust and followed Harry inside with a grimace and a shudder.

Inside was nice and cool and air-conditioned, the smell of the fryers, of cooked meat, sliced lettuce, and cleaning chemicals was thin in the air, the radio was playing some kind of advertising jingle as they came in, mostly drowned out by the sound of the man playing on the pinball machine in the corner, cursing and jabbing his thumbs into the controls with enough force to rattle the whole machine. A young lady and what they could assume was her daughter or younger sister were in the furthest booth tucking into salmon and chips, but other than that, the place was practically empty.

The young man behind the counter nodded to them as they sat down, “What can I get for you?” he asked, putting away the receipts he had been totalling.

Harry looked at Cor. “Just a jetty,” he muttered.

“Make that two,” Harry requested before sliding over one of his cards.

“Hunter, huh?” the young man commented as he swiped it and handed it back. “If yer lookin' fer Phon, he went on a hunt yesterday. Still ain't come back,” he explained as he pulled the two bottles of chilled mineral water out.

The Gryffindor went very still as he accepted his drink. “Yesterday? What time?” he asked with forced nonchalance.

“Just after breakfast. He was t'tackle an outta control Dual Horn just north-east'a here.”

And on the maps there were no havens near that area, not until you passed the off-road that lead to the Three Valleys. If he'd been out there since breakfast yesterday, then he was either hurt or dead. If the tipster knew him by name, then he was a local, settled hunter. They were generally more common than roamers, easier to miss when they didn't come back in time. Roamers were the ones more likely to meet a sticky end simply because no one noticed when they never made it back, so unless they got lucky and another roamer found them before the fiends, daemons, or their injuries did them in, they made up the majority of the tags returned to the HQ.

“Thanks,” Harry said, raising his bottle and quickly making his way back out.

“Over twenty-four hours,” Cor summed up grimly as they stepped out into the hot sun. Harry knew what he was saying. It was the same thing he had been thinking since they were told, but at the same time he didn't want to consider it in anything more than abstract. He would rather go out and be proven wrong, than believe the worst, stay here, and let a man die because he had been _lazy_.

“I've survived longer,” he stated flatly, checking his pockets and scowling. He had only bothered to bring his throwing knives. It was a supply run so he hadn't thought to bring anything else, it was mostly accident that he had even taken them, figuring he may as well since they were in his hand. He was going to have to be careful and keep good track of them because blessing blades took time and energy that Kimya didn't really have to spare while dealing with those doors.

The two paused, glancing to Clarus, but he seemed to be having more than a little success charming the item shop girl into dropping her pants if how the top three buttons of her blouse were undone to the point of revealing the lace edging of her bra. He would not be appreciative of an interruption, or helpful, right now.

Harry turned and lead the way out of Longwythe, Cor following in his wake without question, at least until they got into the wilds and he summoned his sword to hand, giving Harry a strange look when he realised he hadn't drawn a weapon.

They jogged their way up the road, Harry keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of the other hunter, gaze raking over the open land for discoloured patches of undergrowth, dried blood, heavily disturbed sand and stone. They were already at a disadvantage due to the length of time, but they had the _ad_ vantage of knowing the general area of the hunt to start looking in. If they got close enough to find the physical disturbances, Harry could see if he could find any tracks that would lead them to their missing hunter, or what was left of him. He wasn't the _best_ at tracking, but he had good eyes, and Dave knew what he was talking about when breaking down and explaining how and why certain things looked the way they did out in the wilderness. Harry wouldn't be half as successful at tracking down fiends, or dinner, without the young man's tutelage.

It didn't take long before he spotted the first sign of the fight – a voretooth pack sniffing around puddles of congealed blood, just a little west of the road, an hour and a half out of Longwythe, not far off the sliproad that they all took to get to Balouve Mines.

Cor threw himself into the fight, and Harry readied his knives, taking two of them out with neat throws to the eye as they turned to swipe at the Insomnian or flee from the fight. Thankfully, they hadn't caused too much chaos to the scene of the prior fight, so once Harry had made his way over and liberated his knives from their skulls, he got to work wiping them off while studying the ground around them.

“Did you not bring your weapons?” Cor finally asked him, sounding confused and offended as Harry knelt down next to the large puddle of blood. Yesterday had been hot in the afternoon, there had been no rain that night, but it had definitely gotten cold enough to freeze any fluids left out. There were definitely signs of ice spoilage across the entire length of blood, but not _that_ much. It was already mostly congealed by the time night settled in. About.... mid-afternoon, he would guess. The blood had been spilled at mid-afternoon. And it definitely wasn't human, too much in too large an area without enough scattering for it to have come from a human.

“It was a supply run. I didn't think I'd need them,” he admitted absently as he moved away to examine a collection of tracks amongst the broken brush and undergrowth.

“... _how_... are you _incapable_ of believing that you're attractive?!” the sixteen year old finally demanded in dismay and confusion.

Harry rolled his eyes, nudging aside the scrappy weeds to get a better look at the bootprint protected beneath – size nines, headed north-east, towards the Three Valley's junction. But why? There were no settlements out there, the nearest haven was four hours away, no way he'd have made it before nightfall. Had the Dual Horn forced him this way? Had he been hoping for a pick up on the road? Well, it clearly hadn't happened, otherwise he'd have been back in Longwythe by now, safe and sound, or the tipster would have gotten word from the Prairie outpost that he was up there with injuries or something.

“Maybe because I'm really not? Ever thought of that?” he demanded sarcastically, not looking up as he followed the crumbling trail of bootprints away from the scene of the fight. He was moving well, no stumbling, not dragging his feet, but he was moving fast, running, apparently unhurt to a significant degree at the very least.

Cor _actually_ growled in annoyance. Harry tried to ignore how it made his stomach twist pleasantly with interest.

“I am not _blind_ , thanks. And I'm not – ugly people – that's not my kink! You _aren't_ ugly!” he snapped irritably, struggling to find a nice way of saying that he was shallow, watching his back all the same as they followed the tracks heading... towards the road.

“I know a great many people who would disagree and say you needed glasses as well,” he quipped flatly, almost absently before he lost the trail and cursed. “Go to that side of the road, tell me if you see bootprints,” he ordered, pointing to the eastern side of the road.

The soldier gave him an absolutely filthy look before doing as he was told. “Well, they're _wrong_ and out of the two of us, _I'm_ not the one that needs glasses,” he snapped pointedly, scowling.

“Debatable.” No boot treads yet. “You didn't even realise I was a hunter when we met,” he pointed out dryly.

“You were covered in so much mud I couldn't tell,” the sixteen year old retorted, kneeling down briefly before shaking his head and getting back up again. “And then I _actually_ got a look at you in Meldacio, I – you – ” he went pink and scowled furiously, glancing at him and then away again, “You were so pretty I forgot everything I was going to say and just ended up staring like a moron.” Aaaand then Harry opened his mouth and called him stupid, and they ended up rolling around on the floor beating the shit out of each other. Great social skills there, Potter.

“Oh.... I thought you were trying to pick a fight....” he admitted sheepishly.

The look he got was part exasperated, part fond, “I figured,” Cor said dryly, and Harry went a little pink, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. “I just wish you'd believe me when I say you're pretty.”

Harry felt his cheeks go hot. “I am not pretty,” he snapped, more embarrassed than stunk. Guys weren't 'pretty', and especially not guys like him.

Cor made a sound of deep frustration, stopping in place and staring up at the sky beseechingly, praying for strength, or patience. Harry kind of wanted to punch his adam's apple back down his throat for it, he also kind of wanted to lick it. But mostly punch it.

“Look, just, drop it, okay?” the Gryffindor requested, sounding more tired than he actually felt. “I get the whole 'everyone is beautiful to someone' thing, but it doesn't change the fact that objectively speaking I'm a scrawny little runt. And it's fine. I'm okay with that, I'm comfortable, I don't _care_. It's honestly kind of freeing actually,” he admitted as he found the bootprint trail again, heading off the road, this time he saw the dragging footmarks, spots here and there of dried blood mixed with sand and dirt. This time it hadn't been ice spoiled, and was still a little moist, or at least sticky when he touched it. He'd been attacked by daemons in the night more than likely, it was the only explanation for why he was injured _here_ with no sign of a struggle, no blood or enemies, but fine back there, several hours prior.

“I can dress, look, and eat how I like; people that talk to me generally aren't going to have ulterior motives – ”

“You nearly got assaulted in Lestallum! Twice!” Cor interrupted loudly, reaching out to grab him only to snap his hand back at the last second into a fist, furious and physically taking a step back and away from him. “Harry, you _aren't_ ugly! How many times do I have to say it before it'll get through your thick skull?! You're going to get in trouble if you're not careful!” he snarled, half a hair from ripping his own out.

Harry glared at him darkly, “I think I can tell when someone is dangerous for myself, thanks,” he stated coolly, vividly reminded of that first meeting with Draco Malfoy and their talk about making friends.

Cor stopped and ran a hand through his hair, thinking twice over what he was going to say. “Harry... That may have been the case in your home country, where you knew where you stood, where you know the social rules, where people had different values and culture. But Lucis is _different_ ,” he pointed out almost desperately. “You _are_ attractive, people _are_ going to talk to you with ulterior motives, _men_ are going to talk to you with ulterior motives – and yeah, they might not _want_ to hurt you, or steal from you, or kill you, but they'll want something from you, and you might get hurt none the less when they try to get it!”

“Oh? And what might that be, since they're not looking to steal from me?” he demanded sarcastically.

“Sex for a start!” Cor snarled. “They're going to want your body, your time, anything they can get. And you _hate_ people touching you. So how do you think it's going to go when you don't understand where someone is leading a conversation, when you end up in their house, or their flat, or their car, not realising what they want? Not everyone is going to stop when you ask them to, and if you can't get to your weapons, if you didn't think to _bring_ them...” he trailed off meaningfully.

Harry shook his head, “I can't just go around _assuming_ everyone who speaks to me wants in my pants, Cor! That's unbelievably arrogant and incredibly unlikely!”

“More likely than you'd think, but no, that's not what I'm saying!” he exclaimed, “Just – just be _careful_. Just – it's a possibility – just be aware it's a possibility and be _careful_ , that's all.”

He sighed heavily, “I understand what you're saying. But I still think you're blowing it all out of proportion. No one is going to want to have sex with me.”

“ _I do!_ ” he hissed furiously, “So did that guy in Lestallum! So did those women that Clarus had to save you from!”

It felt like someone had just grabbed his stomach and twisted his guts sharply to the left. He – objectively he had kind of known. Cor hadn't exactly – well, he had been but – that kiss in Lestallum hadn't exactly been... PG13 rated. But to have him just come right out and admit it to his face like that was....

“Understand now?” he demanded harshly, scowling at him. “Other people aren't _going_ to keep their hands to themselves just because you ask them to.”

“What? Like you?” Harry tried to demand, his sounding weird and far away to his own ears.

“No! You think I'm going to touch you without your permission after you've said _repeatedly_ that you don't like it, or want it?” he asked, sounding – genuinely hurt, and angry.

He shook his head, “No, I mean – that wasn't what I meant.”

“What _did_ you mean?!”

“ _Hello? Is someone there? Help me!_ ”

The two froze as an unfamiliar voice called from somewhere up ahead, sounding rough and thin.

“We're not finished,” Cor hissed warningly even as he strode forward, ahead of Harry, to find the fallen hunter.

No, of course they weren't, because nothing in Harry's life could ever be _simple_ or _drama-free_. He sighed quietly and followed after the Insomnian as they came to the t-junction that lead up to the Three Valleys, and the rusting car beside it that a large tanned man with muddy brown hair and sunburnt cheeks was using to shelter from the worst of the sun overhead.

Cor was brusque, his anger from their earlier conversation bleeding through into his actions as he wordlessly shattered a potion onto the man's injuries as he babbled breathlessly about thinking he was going to die, how the daemons got him on the road while he was hiking up towards the haven – he'd spent his last handful of gil on dinner before taking the hunt, he wouldn't even have the cash for the caravan if he didn't succeed, so when he fucked up, he went for the haven to spend the night and start again tomorrow. Only, he got caught with his pants down by a gang of Kill Stealers. They took his Dual Horn mark, left him unconscious at the side of the road. By the time he woke up, it was dusk. And, well, they could guess the rest.

“I'll make sure word is passed up to Meldacio. They'll get a team down here to deal with them,” Harry promised firmly as they got the man to his feet. Harry gave him his water bottle, and the man greedily drained it dry before returning it with a deep sigh of relief. “We should get back to Longwythe, I'll spot you the money for the caravan. Just do the same for someone else what needs it further down the line.”

The man grinned at him, “You bet. What's yer name?” he asked curiously as the trio began the long walk back to Longwythe, Cor stonily silent despite the hunters increasingly uncertain attempts to speak to him, it made Harry a little uncomfortable to watch because the hunter was genuinely grateful and trying to be nice.

Phon was pleasant enough, asked a lot of questions that Harry didn't really have answers to, was eager to talk about his own accomplishments and what hunting around Longwythe was usually like. Apparently there was a legendary creature hiding somewhere in the local area, he hadn't found it yet, but he was going to.

“How are you going to know it if no one has ever seen it?” Harry asked sceptically as they made their way into the town, Cor stomping ahead of them.

Phon tapped the side of his nose, “Apparently, it's completely unmissable. Still. Thank you again, really. You and your boyfriend, I thought I wasn't gunna make it.”

Harry went pink, “He's not my boyfriend.”

“What? Really?” Phon blurted in surprise. “Well, then, at least let me take you out to dinner, as a thank you?” he asked hopefully before glancing over to Cor who – had not waited for them. “I'd uh, invite your friend but he doesn't seem too happy with me. Though, if he isn't your boyfriend I'm not exactly sure why?” he admitted, scratching the back of his dirty hair.

Harry didn't answer but shrugged all the same, spotting Clarus storming across the carpark from the mote towards them, “Uh oh. Uh, gotta go. Sorry, thanks for the offer of dinner, but we've gotta get back to camp. Takecareofyourselfbye!” he rushed out before bolting forward just as Clarus started shouting.

“ – HAVE YOU BEEN?!!” the Shield roared, practically up in Cor's face, right as Harry shoved himself between them.

“BACK OFF!” he bellowed, right in the man's face, startling him into taking a step back. Harry then proceeded to shove _himself_ backwards, into Cor, forcing the other teenager to retreat with him until there was at least some breathing room between them.

“Is there a problem here?” Phon demanded, interrupting as he glared up at Clarus, not seemingly intimidated in the slightest by the wall of muscle in front of him. Though, given how he decided to try and tackle a mad Dual Horn solo, and survived a night out on his own with no magic, Harry was going to guess he was made of sterner stuff than he had previously given the guy credit for.

“None of your business!” Clarus snapped.

“It is my business when you're goin' at th' two guys that just saved my damn life. Tell me now why I shouldn't feed you your own arms, Big Guy?” the hunter demanded harshly.

“No one is feeding anyone anything!” Harry interrupted shortly, “Just stop! Clarus, we went to go and rescue a local hunter. You were practically elbow deep in the item girl, we didn't think you'd appreciate being interrupted. Phon, Clarus is – one of our travelling companions. We didn't tell him we were leaving, he just panicked. Both of you need to back off and calm down.”

The hunter glared at Clarus but eventually relaxed, slowly retreating a step, “You sure?” he asked slowly.

Harry nodded, “Positive. It's fine. Thank you, really, but we're okay. Here, for the caravan,” Harry said, taking one of his cards and shoving it at the guy. There was probably enough in there to put him up for a month or three but Harry wasn't going to get stingy, not when he had _this_ fucking mess to diffuse. “Go get yourself cleaned up. It was nice meeting you,” he stated determinedly, keeping half an eye on Clarus who was clenching and unclenching his fist, shifting from foot to foot as he glared between Harry and Cor, only keeping his peace while the stranger was present.

Phon eyed them all before taking the card, “You shout if you need me, okay, Angel? I'll come runnin',” he declared with one last narrow look at Clarus before he left.

“You – ”

“Don't start, Clarus,” Harry snapped quietly, glowering at him. “We weren't exactly quiet, or discreet. You were right fucking there less than five feet away while we were discussing it. You were just too busy trying to get your dick wet to pay attention. We saved a man's life. What were _you_ doing?” he demanded harshly before turning to Cor, “I'm going to talk to the tipster quickly.”

The Shield reached out to grab him, “We're not done – ” only for Harry to skip out of reach with a scowl.

“Yes we fucking _are_ , Clarus! I don't know about Cor, but you're not my fucking keeper. There was someone in danger, we didn't exactly have the time to wait for you to finish!”

“You say it like I wouldn't have stopped!”

“You might have stopped, but would we have heard the end of it?” he demanded shortly before storming into the diner to inform the tipster about the Kill Stealers in the area, and the fact that Phon was back, safe and sound. He also bought a few more bottles of jetty mineral water for himself and Cor – the bottles they had earlier were not enough for a prolonged walk outside in Leide.

The drive back to the haven was done in stony silence.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. Please do not think I don't like Clarus, he just does things that does not endear him to Harry right now. XDD;;


	27. Chapter 27

The look on Weskham's face when they all got out of the car looking like thunder made Harry feel even more like shit.

Because it was _his_ fault everyone was in a foul mood this time.

He wanted to apologise to Clarus, but, he didn't _actually_ regret what he'd done, just how he'd spoken to the man, and the distress he caused when they just upped and left for several hours. Though a tiny snide voice in the back of his head that sounded an awful lot like Seamus pointed out that if he had been _that_ quick with the item girl then it wasn't something to be proud of. But Harry _really_ didn't want to think about the Shield's bedroom activities, it was a bit nauseating in all honesty.

Cor he needed to clear the air with. He didn't know _how_ the Insomnian got the completely opposite idea of what he had actually said and meant, but he assumed it was another one of those linguistic trip-ups he used to have with Dave back before he discovered that sarcasm wasn't much used in these parts. He sighed deeply as they climbed up towards the camp, Clarus storming on ahead and physically throwing his new sleeping bag into his tent with enough force that it bounced and hit one of the canvas walls, he then dropped into his chair and summoned a beer. Harry winced to see him drinking this early in the day and grimaced in answer to the alarmed look Weskham threw him – right before Cor suddenly stopped and faced him, forcing Harry to take a step back so he didn't run into him.

“Spar?” he ' _asked_ ', jerking his chin to the rock walkway further up ahead that would take them to a discreet clearing just out of sight of the camp. A good place for a private conversation, or a discreet beat down.

He winced a little but nodded. Either they fought it out and cleared the air, or they ended up stewing and seething and forced into close quarters until someone snapped and it all blew up horribly – like he and Ron had only with more swords and guns involved. And a greater willingness to attack each other given their prior history with violence towards each other.

The Insomnian nodded shortly, “Get your weapons,” he ordered shortly and stalked off.

“Harry?” Weskham prompted anxiously once his younger companion had left.

“Sorry Wesk, I fucked up,” he admitted quietly.

“Damn straight you did, you punk,” Clarus growled from his chair before craning his head up to Weskham. “Kid fucked off into the wilds barely twenty minutes after getting into Longwythe without a damn word, dragged Cor along with him.”

He strangled the hot flash of his temper with some difficulty. Dragged Cor? Like Harry could make him do _anything_ he didn't want to do, let alone have the _physical_ ability to drag him _anywhere_. “A hunter went missing yesterday. Tipster told me while we were getting drinks. Clarus...” he glanced over at the scowling Shield, “...was haggling with the girl at the item car,” he lied with a perfectly straight face. “I didn't think he wanted to be disturbed, or have _her_ aware he was there with a pair of teenagers. So we went left him.”

“You went alone?” Weskham demanded in tones of despair.

He tried not to bristle, he did, or grit his teeth. “Yes. I've done it before. On my own. In places with a great deal more cover and fiends than the road from Longwythe,” he informed the Retainer stiffly. “The hunter was fine, by the way. Once Cor got a potion to him. A group of Kill Stealers jumped him and left him unconscious several miles away from the haven for the night. He got _very_ lucky,” he added with a cool unfriendly smile at the pair before he slipped past and into his tent where he grabbed his holsters, guns, daggers, and sword from next to his bag. He didn't bother collecting the Iron Assault from the truck – he would _not_ be using that monster against Cor. Not only because he didn't think he would be able to get a shot off, but also because if he _did_....

Cor was waiting for him at the clearing, stood on the opposite side, sword still sheathed in his left hand, which meant absolutely nothing when Harry had _seen_ how fast the guy could draw and bisect someone with it.

Blue eyes sharpened like knives on him and Harry had the uncomfortable realisation that this was actually the first time he had _seen_ Cor angry at him. Angry, and hurt. It was not a nice realisation, not a good feeling, he decided miserably as he came to a stop.

“Until defeat, or resignation,” the Insomnian declared, setting the terms of their 'sparring' match.

And then he didn't even give Harry the chance to speak before lunging.

By this point it was purely reflex. He would stop to feel awkward about it long after the fact, but the second he registered the very real and present threat gunning for him, the quicksilvers were out and the bullets were flying – doing absolutely fuck all apart from menacing the cliff-face and startling the local wildlife as the sixteen year old _deflected_ two with his _sword_ , and _dodged_ the others. Because dodging and deflecting bullets with a sword was a _thing he could do now apparently!_

“Mother _fucker!_ ” he squawked involuntarily, throwing himself out of slashing range.

What followed was – too quick for Harry to be conscious of everything.

Cor went for him again and again, he blocked, dodged, deflected – because blocking him was a _bad_ idea as he learned the first time when he tried to catch the genji blade against the reinforced edges of the quicksilvers, hoping to grind the edge off the blade. Instead he was pretty much forced down to one knee from the force of the blow and had to physically throw himself backwards and keep rolling until he got an arm under himself to handspring back to his feet.

And then he was having to bend his whole body backwards like he was taking part in a limbo contest to avoid the kick thrown at his head – his hands hit the ground and he kicked his foot up into the side of the Insomnian's head. Drawing first blood when the rubber of his shoe tore a graze into his cheekbone.

Second went to Cor a split second later when the genji blade sliced open the back of Harry's shoulders when he landed and tried to put some distance between them.

He ditched the pistols. They were practically useless with the jammy git fucking deflecting bullets (HOW WAS THAT FUCKING POSSIBLE?! THIS WASN'T A FRICKIN' CARTOON!!). Well, he _threw_ them at him, and used the split second Cor spent knocking them aside to get his daggers out. Then things got interesting – and by interesting he meant fucking horrible.

Knowing that someone was physically stronger than you was one thing, going to block a strike out of reflex and having it physically _lift you off your feet_ was something else.

That was when Harry decided to stop fucking around with his thumb up his ass.

Third blood went to Cor's nose when Harry kneed him in the face.

He took a sword hilt in retaliation and tasted blood as he jumped up, planted both feet into the sixteen year old's stomach and kicked both himself away and the Insomnian off his feet. The two staggering, stumbling several paces apart from each other and pausing to catch their breath.

Harry spat blood, feeling the sting of his split lips when he wiped his wrist across his face. He glared at the nasty bare-toothed grin on Cor's face from across the clearing as he licked away some of the blood decorating his face, nose still streaming scarlet.

Well, at least one of them was having fun.

He licked away the blood from his mouth, and smirked right back at him.

He was going to make him eat that damn sword.

Cor's eyes went wide and a split second later he cursed, stumbling backwards, bringing the genji blade up to deflect the dagger Harry threw at him, and rushed him. He was entirely unprepared for Harry to lock blades with him, and then yank him forward and ram his forehead into his skull.

It lost him the other dagger, but he was quick to kick one of Cor's feet out from under him and spin away – the Insomnian going in the opposite direction to regain his footing without falling. It also gave Harry the chance to draw the durandal and then redirect Cor's blade from his open ribs.

To say Harry was outmatched was to severely underestimate Cor's ability.

Harry was absolutely in over his head and _floundering_ against him. Fighting fiends was one thing, but a trained master swordsman was another, and it was only because he had hair-trigger reflexes and a much smaller and flexible form that prevented his complete and utter defeat as he matched the sixteen year old blow for blow, dodging by less than millimetres, his clothing beginning to look like Crookshanks had a vendetta against him, hot lines of distraction burning across his skin where he just hadn't been fast enough and genji scored his skin open.

Cor, by comparison, was going to be black and blue because while his blade work was impeccable and more than enough to put Harry on his ass, he did not guard himself well against other attacks when in a sword to sword duel. And Harry took every opportunity he could to punch and kick whatever he could reach when his guard was open.

And then the Insomnian grabbed his leg when Harry went to kick him again – snapping his elbow down to trap his shin against his side. Harry _squawked_ (he did _not_ squeak, fuck you) as he grinned and promptly turned sideways, pulling him off-balance.

Harry scowled at the grin on his face.

And then jumped _on_ him. He could have the leg – but he clearly hadn't been expecting the rest of the Gryffindor to follow.

Cor yelped staggering back a step, but he _didn't fall_ , the bastard, not until Harry twisted his whole body in a way that his stomach muscles were going to hate him for later that night, and physically threw him off balance and down onto the dirt.

They hit the ground and rolled, Harry lost the durandal, Cor grabbing his wrist and slamming it down into the ground so hard that he couldn't keep hold of it in that split second before he snarled and flipped them over – only to end up on his back again, genji against his neck.

He went still. Breathing hard, neck arched away from the sword.

Cor panted on top of him, “Do you – concede?” he demanded, voice rasping.

Harry shifted his free hand a little bit further, and Cor froze a the pin-prick of pain he felt on his inner thigh.

He looked down in alarm between them to where Harry was holding a dagger to his groin.

He looked up with a very complicated expression on his face and exceptionally wide blue eyes.

Harry smirked at him.

“Draw?” he suggested lightly.

“...Draw,” he agreed, his voice strangled.

Harry pulled the dagger away, and Cor vanished the genji blade back into crystalline shimmers, the two scooting away from each other quickly, the latter with bright pink ears and shifty eyes while Harry sat up to examine all the slices in his clothes with annoyance. At least they were neat.... it would be a pain in the ass to sew shut, but it wouldn't take all that much thread. Though now that the adrenaline was wearing off though, he was more and more aware of all the cuts and bruises that _littered_ his body. He sighed and winced a little when the long cut across his shoulders pulled.

“I didn't mean it like that, y'know,” the Gryffindor admitted quietly, staring at the rock face in front of him instead of daring to look at the other teenager. “I know you've been careful. You're pretty much the only person I've ever met who _is_ except for Sirius and the Dursleys. And Lupin I guess, but he's too scared of hurting me or – the Dursleys just didn't want to get freak on themselves. You and Sirius are the only ones who don't because I just don't like it. I _have_ noticed, and I _do_ appreciate it. I'm sorry I gave you the impression that I didn't.”

There was a long silence. Long enough that he began to feel a little nervous and uncomfortable, wondering if he'd made another misstep, another social blunder on top of another, making the count too many to be ignored or brushed aside any longer.

“I know. And.... I'm sorry too,” the soldier admitted quietly behind him, “I let my frustration get the better of me. The spar was fun, but I shouldn't have used it as an excuse to take my anger out on you.”

Harry shrugged a shoulder, and rolled his head back to flash him a tired grin, “It's fine. Kinda used to it,” he admitted before facing away and clumsily getting to his feet, wincing the whole way.

“No!” the Insomnian yelped, jumping to his feet, “No, Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't – I was stupid and I shouldn't have – ”

Harry lifted a hand, shutting him up, huffing a short laugh, “Cor, it's fine. Really. If sparring were a thing that happened back home, I'm pretty sure Ron and I would have bloodied each other plenty of times by now. God knows we've had some blow-ups over the years. There's nothing to apologise for,” he promised, but the sixteen year old looked far from reassured, in fact, he actually looked even more miserable.

“...Cor. I trust you,” he stated plainly. “You didn't mean it maliciously. You got angry. It's fine. That's human. If I were really against this, I could have said no. And I know you'd respect that. But we needed to clear the air, and you're right. This was fun.”

He looked like Harry had just clipped him upside the head with one of Weskham's frying pans, and for a moment, Harry wondered if Cor was actually _used_ to talking to people his own age. All this time they had been surrounded by people five to ten to thirty years older than the both of them so it never really seemed strange that the sixteen year old was a bit awkward trying to talk to him, but now he had to wonder if Cor had _ever_ spent time with another teenager before. He was already too serious, being surrounded by people twice his age with half his skill, and trying to get them to respect him had to have messed with his social skills something fierce.

Harry clapped him on the shoulder, meaning to reassure him further, only to hiss in pain when his wrist jarred. Right. Smashed on a rock. He remembered now.

“Let me see,” the Insomnian demanded, holding a hand out.

“It's fine,” he reassured with a small half-smile, gripping his wrist to his chest tightly.

“Harry.” Cor stared at him. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he promised. Which – kind of obvious? Was that actually a consideration now? He frowned in bewilderment at him, and Cor wiggled his fingers pointedly, arching an eyebrow. Harry sighed and only paused a little before stretching his aching wrist out. The sixteen year old's hands were uncomfortably hot like usual, but they were gentle as he carefully applied a potion to the swelling and darkening flesh. “I just – what I did was no better than Clarus,” he finally admitted darkly, avoiding eye-contact, “I gave him a lot of grief for it, and it turns out I'm no fucking better.”

“I would say it's _very_ different,” he pointed out mildly with a raised eyebrow. Cor just shook his head and pulled out another potion for the cuts that spiralled their way up Harry's arm, bleeding sluggishly and stinging with sweat. He caught the Insomnian's hand, stopping him. “It _is_ different, Cor. You were angry, sure, but instead of bumrushing me while my back was turned, you faced me, made sure I had a weapon in my hand, knew what was coming, and let me defend myself. I'm not some delicate flower that can't handle a smack when I'm being a dumbass,” he pointed out with a wry twist to his mouth.

“But Clarus – ”

“But nothing. Just because I've forgiven him, doesn't mean I trust him,” Harry pointed out, making the sixteen year old pause and stare at him in surprise, Harry arched an eyebrow at him, “I know he's a good man. But that doesn't mean I trust him. I know a lot of good people, people I know who would defend me, or anyone else, to the death. But I don't trust them.”

He cast around, trying to think of an example.

“It's – like Lupin. My Defence teacher when I was thirteen. When he thought my friends and I were in danger, even though it was incredibly dangerous for his own health, he was right in there, facing off with a confirmed mass murderer to protect us. But – but he abandoned me, when I was a baby.” And damn, that was hard to admit. “I get it, really, I do. His medical condition made him too dangerous to take care of a newborn, and all of his friends had practically vanished over night. My parents dead, Sirius in prison, and Pettigrew on the run, presumed dead as well. He wasn't in a place mentally to take care of me. _I get it_. But twelve years and not once did he check in, call, or write. I didn't even know he existed until he showed up at school as my teacher. And it took months before he would even admit to knowing my parents at school. It took someone else telling me that he had been my dad's bestfriend, that he'd been at their wedding, that if it hadn't been for his condition he would have been one of my godparents. But at the end of the year, he just – left again. No letters, no calls, nothing. Again. Despite saying he would try. So while I've forgiven him, and I know he would lay down his life to protect me, or any of his other students, I don't trust him.

“It's the same with Clarus. I've forgiven him for grabbing me by the neck, and I know he'd protect me if the chips were down, but I don't trust him not to do it again.”

“He wouldn't,” Cor promised firmly.

Harry grimaced doubtfully. “Prior experience says otherwise. People who lash out in anger like that don't just _stop._ ”

Cor suddenly stiffened in alarm, “Who – your _godfather?_ ” he demanded harshly, furious.

It took Harry a moment to realise what he meant and shook his head, “No! No, no, absolutely not!” he exclaimed, making a cutting gesture with his free hand. “Sirius has _never_ laid a violent hand on me. He never would. He knows his temper and after prison, he's scared of it, scared of accidentally hurting me with it. No, my _Uncle_ is the heavy handed one, not Sirius,” he swore. “Not that he _did_ an awful lot. Too scared of getting freak on him. My teachers were the worst.”

He looked stricken, and Harry _really_ wished he wouldn't. When he pulled faces like that, it only served to hammer home how different and _not okay_ his circumstances really were. With Ron and Hermione, they were so used to it all that.... there was no energy to be surprised or outraged anymore, really. Just.... dust yourself off, figure out a way to mitigate the worst of it, and get on with what needed to be done – like stopping Voldemort's plan _this_ year.

“Your Uncle? Your _teachers?!_ ”

Harry pulled a face. “I told you about Umbridge giving me this, remember?” he asked, flexing the hand in Cor's grasp pointedly, reminding him of the words etched into his flesh in scar tissue. “She was just one in a long line of shitty teachers. First one released a troll into the school, tried to kill me during detention, and choked me out when I caught him stealing. Second year was Lockhart, the air-headed moron that he was. He tried to fix my broken arm and I ended up having to have all the bones regrown, felt like there were needles under my skin it was so bad. And then he tried to lock us in an abandoned part of the school basement when we found out he was a fraud. Lupin was out third year, but like I said, he had bad health. He was the best we actually _had_. Last year was Moody, a retired police officer, but someone was impersonating him and keeping the real one in a trunk in his office. He was demonstrating torture techniques in class, and smacked a student around the Entrance Hall like a tennis ball. Then we had Umbridge and, well.” He flexed his hand again in example, and Cor's expression was a hair away from murderous.

“Your teacher _choked you out when you were eleven?_ ” he hissed lividly.

“I – uh – I didn't mention how old I was....” he pointed out uncomfortably.

“I can do basic _maths_ ,” he hissed, leaning in and forcing Harry to lean back and turn his head away. Like he'd seen Fang do when Hagrid was trying to tell him off for something, he realised. He was acting like a guilty dog! “Harry,” Cor growled.

“....I was almost twelve,” he pointed out plaintively, wincing a little when the grip on his hand tightened painfully.

“ _That doesn't make it better, what the fuck?_ ”

Harry squirmed uncomfortably.

“Tell me he was arrested.”

He winced.

Ron and Hermione had never asked him about what happened to Professor Quirrel, Ron didn't care, Hermione probably assumed that he had been arrested, and Harry would forever be grateful that they never thought to ask. He had never had to outright admit that –

“I killed him. By accident.”

Cor nodded, satisfied and leaning back, “Good.” Harry winced. “Better him than you,” the Insomnian snapped sharply, scowling at him.

“I – ”

“ _No,_ ” he snapped. “Better him than _you._ ”

Harry winced again and Cor made a sound of frustration.

“Fucking – can I hug you? Please?” he demanded roughly.

“I – uh – y-yes?” Harry spluttered in surprise, and then winced when a second later he was having the stuffing squeezed out of him – as well as an awful lot of blood because he still had a lot of cuts that had yet to close or scab over.

...But it was nice. It was a lot firmer than any of Missus Weasley's hugs, and it was _warm_. Despite the stinging cuts, he couldn't stop himself from leaning into it and knotting his fingers into the fabric of his shirt. Cor just hugged him tighter, which was also nice.

He was completely blindsided when he broke away and grabbed his head, pressing a hard kiss to his forehead.

“Do not _ever_ feel bad about killing to survive,” he ordered firmly, blue eyes burning. “ _They_ took their own lives into their hands the moment they made that decision. You are allowed to defend yourself. You are _allowed_ to live and survive. You do not have to apologise for surviving when your attacker _did not_.”

He nodded dumbly and Cor nodded before taking a step back.

“Come on, we should head back before Wesk and Reggie send out a search party,” the Insomnian decided, looking skyward to where the horizon was beginning to turn pink and orange.

Harry shook himself, “Right,” he agreed quickly, “Let me just get my weapons.” He didn't point out that Regis was probably hoping they were making out behind a rock somewhere, he didn't want to think about it, his face was red enough as it was.

Cor eyed him and then summoned a different coloured potion bottle, “Let me just – Kimya would have my nutsack for a hat if you came back like that,” he muttered, stepping in close, _very_ close, to gently crack it open on his head. Harry shivered as he felt the potion wash over him, much like when Moody cast the disillusionment charm on him, only this was warm and tingly.

The Insomnian pressed another kiss to his hair, this one gentler, before he shifted and hurried away, ears practically glowing red as he practically ran away.

Harry felt his lips wobble into a slight grin, ridiculously charmed.

He quickly gathered his swords and pistols, and hurried to the Insomnian's side, pausing, his stomach doing backflips before he looked away, _anywhere but at him_ , and hooked his fingers into Cor's hand.

He was doomed, he realised as his face fucking burned and he felt the sixteen year old move his fingers a little to actually _hold_ his hand properly. Absolutely fucked.

And then they rounded the corner to the camp.

Regis was stood between Clarus and Kimya, Weskham was attempting to hold her back while Cid had one hand on the Shield's arm and the other on his belt. They were all shouting and snarling at each other.

And then Clarus took a sharp step forward – physically dragging Cid behind him.

Harry saw red.

 

 

 


	28. Chapter 28

It felt like he was being crushed between one breath and the next – and then his foot _slammed_ into the side of Clarus' head.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!!”

Sound exploded around him as he gracelessly followed the Shield down, rolled, and leapt to his feet. He dodged Regis' outstretched arm, rushing to Kimya's side. She swatted Weskham off her arm in order to catch him, digging her feet in to stop him from just grabbing her and continuing to run.

“I'm fine, Catnip! Cool yer jets!” she promised even as Weskham took three large steps backwards, hands raised as Harry glared at him over her shoulder.

Clarus scrambled to his feet, face twisted furiously, “ _You –_ ”

And froze when Harry drew his quicksilver.

Regis was quick to put himself between them, “Harry, now – please, calm yourself,” he begged urgently.

“I am calm,” the Gryffindor informed him flatly, “That's why I haven't shot him.”

The Retinue paused to digest that with varying looks of worry exchanged between them as Cor finally skidded into the clearing, pale and scowling.

“What is going on?!” he demanded sharply, looking between the Retinue with betrayal written all over his face.

“Everyone _please!_ ” Weskham exclaimed, frazzled, “Can we calm this down?! Harry, the gun is unnecessary!”

He gave the Retainer a look, “Would you put it away if someone were threatening to attack Regis?” He asked with patient pointedness.

“Yes, if they were someone I trusted not to do so,” he declared firmly. Likely lying. Shame for him Harry would not.

“Then the gun stays out,” he stated, and with the exception of Cor and Kimya, everyone stared at him in shock. He felt his face twist angrily, “What? Just because I forgave him for _strangling_ me doesn't mean I fucking trust him, or ever will again. _Especially not with Kimya!_ ” he snarled through gritted teeth, bristling like an angry cat.

Regis drew himself up, “Harry, Clarus – ”

“Was about to hit her,” he interrupted flatly. “Don't even try to deny it, I saw him move.”

“She can take it,” the Shield sneered resentfully.

“SHE SHOULDN'T HAVE TO!” Harry roared.

“YOU'RE OVER-REACTING!! SHE ISN'T MADE OF FUCKING GLASS!” the Shield bellowed back, taking a step forward, Cid grabbing the back of his belt, yelling ' _Cool yer jets!_ ', while Regis immediately turned to grab his shoulders, begging ' _Clarus calm down!_ ', and Weskham quickly shifted in front of Harry, arms spread, looking genuinely worried. Thus clearly untrusting of _Harry's_ temper. That – did sting. “I FUCKED UP! I APOLOGISED! MAN THE FUCK UP AND GET OVER IT, YOU DAMN PUNK!!” the Shield continued to howl. “YOU AREN'T ANY BETTER OR DO YOU NOT GIVE A SHIT ABOUT KICKING THE FUCK OUT OF COR, STRINGING HIM ALONG, _RUINING HIS DAMN LIFE?!_ ”

“CLARUS KNOCK IT OFF!!” the sixteen year old bellowed furiously.

It felt like someone had poured acid in his stomach. His ears were ringing strangely, and he was vaguely aware his hands were shaking as Cor and Clarus started screaming at each other.

The worst part was that Clarus wasn't wrong.

He turned to look at Kimya. She had never looked more like her sister than at that moment, glowering down her nose at the Shield with great dislike. And then she looked at him, her expression melting into a familiar soft look of concern. “Yer call, Catnip,” she murmured quietly, softly enough not to be heard by the Retinue as the ferocious argument between the Shield and the sixteen year old eventually dragged in both Weskham and Regis, Cid standing to one side watching them warily and ready to start separating them if another fight broke out. Dismayed and confused. “Whatever y'choose, I'll support you,” she promised quietly.

He nodded, mouth and throat dry, feeling his hands tingle with adrenaline.

He turned, lifted his arm, and fired.

The entire Retinue jerked like puppets on their strings as they whipped around to stare at him, frozen in place. He lowered the quicksilver from where he had fired it straight into the air and waited a beat to make sure they were paying attention.

“You're right,” he agreed, looking Clarus in the eye. “I've caused enough trouble. I'm sorry. We'll get out of your hair,” he declared in the sudden ringing silence.

“Harry, please, there is no need for that,” Regis begged, stricken.

“Isn't there?” he asked heavily, looking at the Prince even as he felt Kimya turn on heel and duck into their tent to begin packing. “I've caused nothing but strife amongst your people, one way or another.” He gestured at Regis and Cid, “I've put you in danger,” at Clarus, “disrespected you,” at Cor, “assaulted you,” at Weskham, “made your job more difficult than it needed to be. There is no reason for us to travel together, and every reason to separate.” He didn't look at Cor. He felt cold. His stomach burning full of icy cold acid and twisting tight and tighter. His ears still ringing even as he fought to keep his voice steady. Sounding robotic, far away, underwater. “We'll be gone before sundown.”

“You can't go running around after dark! It's too dangerous!” Clarus blurted, looking genuinely alarmed.

He shrugged, “We'll manage. We always have,” he pointed out solemnly, and holstered his quicksilver before turning away to crawl into the tent.

His breath shook, and he clapped both hands over his ears so he wouldn't have to hear the men outside as their voices rose in accusation. He flinched, only a little, when he felt Kimya's hand on his back a moment before he was pulled against her. Wrapped up tightly in wiry powerful arms, hugged tightly to a body smelling faintly of rose soap, herbs, and sweat. He clung to her as the shaking set in, feeling as though his bones were trying to rattle their way out of his skin.

He took a breath, and pulled away. He still had to pack, and they didn't have much in the way of sunlight left. Kimya pressed a kiss to his forehead, patting his shoulder, before she got to her feet and left the tent, her cases in hand.

Harry sighed, and began to roll his blankets up.

Cor came in.

He tensed up, but didn't look up at him as he folded over the elder coeurl fur to sit on top of his pillow. But he did freeze, his hands stuttering to a stop, when the Insomnian knelt down next to him and pressed a burning hot hand to his back, right between his shoulderblades and spread his fingers out. He stared blindly down at the furs under his hands. Cor had large hands, he realised almost inanely. He hadn't noticed before now, but they were. 

“He _is_ wrong,” the sixteen year old said after a while when it became more than obvious that Harry wasn't going to speak. “I'm not stupid. Or inexperienced. I have had boyfriends and girlfriends before,” he admitted quietly. “Clarus is _wrong_. You haven't ruined my life. And excuse my pride if I say you definitely haven't beaten the crap out of me,” he pointed out flatly. Harry couldn't help the slight hiccup of laughter at that. No. Aside from their few brief scuffles, Harry had done no such thing. Being in Meldacio, waiting for Sirius, stuck in that room with Dave, in that house with Ezma, it had wound him up like a spring to the breaking point, and there had been no relief. He hadn't even realised how bad it had been for him until they left. Being banished had done the both of them a whole world of good. Cor continued, “And there is a _big_ difference between stringing someone along and not knowing how to respond to something, or understand your own feelings.”

“Or knowing that it would just end badly, and not wanting to get hurt," Harry added quietly, his voice a little rough even as he dragged one of the bags he had been using to carry his bedding over.

“What makes you say that?” Cor asked, sounding a little surprised, but genuinely bewildered.

He made a sound of pain, “What do you think is going to happen when Sirius comes for me, Cor?” he asked miserably, looking at him for the first time since he came into the tent. “When I go home, _I will never come back._ ” The Insomnian stared, taken aback, clearly having never realised or even considered what it would mean. Of course he hadn't. To him, Harry was just some guy from Ulwaat, an untamed, daemon infested country just north of Tenebrae according to the book Weskham gave him. There was nothing preventing him from going to Ulwaat and looking for Harry, or stopping Harry from leaving Ulwaat to go to Lucis.

“I can – ” he stopped as Harry shook his head.

“No. You _can't_. Because you won't ever find us. Not you, Regis, or Niflheim will ever find us. We will never see each other again. So – _yeah_. I like you. But it won't work. You're not going to leave Regis, and I'm not going to leave Sirius.” He shrugged aggressively, turning away to roughly shove his blankets away. “There's no _point_ in trying, and I would really rather save us the trouble and heartache. We both have more than enough on our plates to be dealing with without adding _this_ whole – ”

“Harry.” The Gryffindor looked over. “Don't stab me for this,” Cor requested, an odd twist to his mouth, almost a smirk, before he reached out, grabbed Harry's head and kissed him, hard, on the mouth.

He squeaked, flinching, and jerking in surprise. But Cor had a vice-grip on his skull, one hand sliding back to grip the back of his head, the other to cup his cheek and turn his head _just_ so and – oh.

It was soft.

.......he didn't know why he was so surprised.......

He should push him away. He _shouldn't_ let this happen because – because, _this?_ This was leading him on and – and....

he tipped his head a little and leaned into him.

Please, just this once, _let him be_ _ **selfish**_.

It was nothing like Lestallum. Cor was gentle, slanting his lips carefully over Harry's own, slight movements that teased his mouth open without him even being aware of it until everything was warm and wet and Cor's tongue was inside his mouth.

He would make it his goodbye. This kiss. He decided somewhere in some distant corner of his mind not occupied with hot fingers in his hair, at the back of his neck, the wet slide of lips and tongue, the tip of Cor's nose against his cheek, and how his stomach was turning over and his hands and feet were tingling with something like adrenaline but sweeter.

The voices outside rose sharply, and the two flinched apart, tearing their mouths away from one another as if burnt as the shouting turned nasty. Cid had finally had enough of the arguing and waded into it himself – with greater volume and fouler language, sounding telling them all to shut the hell up or get put into time out like the squabbling brats they were acting like. He will put you over his knee, so help him Bahamut, do _not_ think he won't. You aren't too big not to get a damn deserved spanking you little shits!

Cor pulled a face of bitter frustration and Harry could only huff a little smile in sad exasperation. It was probably for the best. He didn't particularly want Kimya, or anyone from the Retinue to see them, and... he shouldn't.... encourage this. Clarus was _right_. He had been stringing Cor along by not outright telling him to back off, and now this? He was being entirely unfair.

The Insomnian sighed, not quite slumping, but his shoulders drooped and his head bowed.

Harry refused to feel worse than he already did and returned to packing his backpack. Then, when it was full and he'd gathered about as much as he could carry in a single trip, he got to his feet and leaned down, wrapping an arm around Cor's head, and then kissing his forehead.

“Don't die,” he ordered roughly into the sixteen year old's hair. He couldn't tell him to stay safe, not as the bodyguard to a Royal in a time of war, but not dying? That was doable. He didn't really have the right to be making demands but...

He left the tent before Cor could reel him in and convince him to – he didn't know, stay? They both knew it wouldn't happen, not with the blow up that had just happened, and he knew that Cor wouldn't insult him by trying. Just like Harry wouldn't insult him by trying if Kimya had been the one to threaten Regis. They both knew where they stood in regards to their magic wielding patrons.

He ignored the adults milling around in strained silence outside the tent. Weskham was cleaning the portable stone as though it had personally wronged him, Regis was stood at the edge of the haven, his arms tucked up behind him, brooding, but neither Cid nor Clarus could be seen. He slipped past them in silence, finding Kimya and Cid at the truck at the bottom of the hill.

He stowed his things in the back, listening with half an ear as Cid explained about replacing the truck windows after the attack on Balouve (which explained some things, because he wasn't sure if it was the general brain malfunction he had but he could have sworn he blew the windows out), but having to use an ill-fitting type of glass because he didn't have anything specifically for this build of truck in his armiger pocket, so they weren't going to be able to wind down anymore. He had been forced to use a sealant to put them in and keep them in place, and waterproof. She was going to have to get them replaced properly – and if she wanted to sell the glass, go ahead. Insomnian safety glass would net her a pretty gil out here, and it wasn't like he couldn't get more. One phonecall and King Mors would just tuck a shipment in the armiger that he, or Regis, could pull out later.

“Damn shame y'all have ter leave,” he complained, adjusting his hat with a sigh. “It's been fun, but, needs must an' all. Don't be a stranger now. If y'all need any help, don't hesitate t'ask me.” He nodded to Harry as he took a step back, “Regardless a'what happened here t'day, I still call y'all friends, so don't be shy,” he declared with gruff determination.

Kimya threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly, muttering something too quiet for Harry to hear, but had the old man barking a laugh and patting her back. “Don't go sayin' things like that t'old fellers like me, Kim. They jest might take ya up on th'offer,” he teased, startling a laugh from her.

“What _would_ yer _wife_ say?” she laughed as she stepped back.

“Bring 'er home so I can have a go, more'n likely,” he quipped drily, startling another laugh from her and even a snicker from Harry.

They still had to go and collapse the tent, but it was already done by the time Harry returned. Regis and Cor carefully folding it back into its back while Weskham fussed over several tupperwares of food which he was quick to present to Kimya, murmuring his apologies for letting things get so out of hand.

She dismissed them. It wasn't his responsibility to apologise for others, and she was just as much to blame as Clarus this time. “Reminds me entirely too much'a my sister,” she complained with wrinkled nose. Now that she'd had a taste of freedom, known a life different to what she had been forced into back at Meldacio, she was defensive of it now. And the similarity between her sister and Clarus, in their reactions and their behaviours, and their reasonings, it put her back up in a way she hadn't expected.

“Are you... _sure_ I cannot convince you to stay with us, Harry? Kimya?” Regis asked mournfully. “Seeing to the remaining doors will be a dangerous and arduous task. I cannot help but worry for your well-being with your numbers so small. Surely it would be more advantageous to remain until your quest is complete, yes?”

Harry rolled his eyes a little as he reached for the tent bag in Cor's hand. Kimya just quirked a half smile at the Prince, “We can hire hunters t'escort us through Costlemark, yer Highness. Greyshire ain't no big thing between th'two'a'us. Other than that, th'only thing we'd need yer help with was access t'Daurell. The Brass didn't want t'let a pair a'unknonws inta th'basement a'th'base, an' rightly so. But a letter'a introduction might see us inta th'caverns,” she suggested, casting a glance over her shoulder to Cor as he pulled the bag out of Harry's reach, not letting him take it.

Regis nodded slowly, “A letter I can most assuredly do, Lady Auburnbrie,” he told her with sad solemness.

She huffed a laugh and punched his shoulder, “None'a'that!” she declared loudly as Harry tried to grab the bag again, only to have it moved away. He scowled at the Insomnian who arched an eyebrow at him. “We ain't – we're still comrades. We're still workin' t'th'protection a'th'people. That makes us allies. Comrades. _Friends_. Arguments an' bad blood aside, y'jest need t'call, an' we'll come runnin, right?” she asked, looking over at Harry who gave Cor a suspicious glower before turning away to look at Regis.

“Agreed. Personal feelings aside, if you need help, don't be shy about asking for it,” he said firmly, straightening his shoulders. They weren't always going to be there to do so, but for the time that they will be, they should help. This was Kimya's home afterall. Her people.

He turned to try and snatch the bag again, only to have Cor physically turn away to keep it out of his reach.

Kimya giggled behind him, and he scowled, feeling himself beginning to flush in irritation. Do not do this. Not right now. Do _not_ piss him off _now_ – Harry sighed and shook his head, fine, he wanted to keep the tent, then they would just buy another one at the next town, it wasn't like he was short of cash, and if they were, a few hunts and they would be solvent again. No big deal.

He turned away and let Cor keep the damn tent.

“Have you seen Clementine?” he asked, looking to Kimya who chuckled and nudged her breast pocket, prompting an irritated little hiss from the lady in question demanding to know why she had been awoken. “Ah. Alright,” he said, leaving the two girls as they were.

Kimya started the goodbyes off by throwing her arms around Regis' shoulders, hugging him tightly with a few muffled words before she turned to do the same to Weskham.

Regis reached a hand out to shake and Harry paused, staring at it. This was probably the last time he would see the young man. He grabbed the hand, and the tugged him closer, giving him an awkward one armed hug.

“Thank you for everything,” he said, quickly stepping backwards out of reach, trying to ignore the urge to rub the feeling away. The smile the Prince gave him made it obvious that the discomfort was worth it. He even managed to give Weskham a quick hug of his own while Kimya squeezed Cor tightly, murmuring several quiet words in his ear before kissing his forehead and pressing a scrap of paper into his hand.

Clarus was no where to be found.

Harry swallowed his slight disappointment. He would have liked to say goodbye, despite everything. They left the haven and headed down to the truck where Kimya threw herself into another round of hugs and Harry circled the back to get into the passenger side.

“Harry,” Cor called quietly, following him. “Here,” he muttered, holding something out. “To remember me by.”

“I don't think I'm going to be forgetting any time soon,” the Gryffindor pointed out dryly but held his hand out anyway.

It was the charm from his genji blade. The one tucked beneath the wrappings. Blue crystal carved in the effigy of a partially nude woman. Shiva. The Winter Queen.

He looked up in confusion.

Cor shrugged, “Most people in the Niflheim territories don't believe anymore, but given how Solheim was to the North of Succarpe and Tenebrae, a lot of people still follow both Ifrit and Shiva as their patron deities. Genji had charms for both. Shiva.... seemed appropriate.”

He looked down at the crystal. This... was practically a family heirloom.

“I can't take this, Cor,” he refused, trying to pass it back. “It's too important.”

He shook his head and closed Harry's hand over it tightly. “It's my choice to give it to who I want. And I want you to have it.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Harry's cheek. “Stay out of trouble.”

“Physically impossible, but I'll do my best,” he managed to say with a surprisingly steady voice as the Insomnian stepped back, and let go of his hand.

He watched, feeling a hard lump lodge itself in the back of his throat as Cor turned around and walked away, heading back to the Retinue at the side of the road. This was for the best. Clarus being violent to him was one thing, him raising a hand to Kimya was unforgivable. Not because she couldn't take it, but she had _nothing_ to do with their disagreement, him taking his anger out on her just for standing up for Harry, for being related to Harry? No. Absolutely not. Her safety came first. They would do exactly the same thing for Regis.

He climbed into the truck, closing the door behind him and took a deep breath around the hard lump in his throat, watching from the corner of his eye as Regis handed an envelope to Kimya.

Night had truly fallen by the time they drove away from the haven.

Harry almost wished a daemon would spawn in front of them.

He really wanted to hit something right now.

 

 


	29. Chapter 29

He apparated.

Harry stared dully down at his cold breakfast of trail mix and bottled water, exhausted and heartsick over the events of the last forty eight hours. Had it really only been the day before yesterday that they had belatedly celebrated his sixteenth birthday? They started the morning with pancakes....

Kimya grunted, rolling over in her sleep and making the truck rock a little where Harry was sat on the bonnet, watching the sunrise catch the tip of Costlemark tower through the trees, his eyes feeling dry and gritty with exhaustion.

They had driven pretty much the whole night, wanting to put some distance between themselves and the Retinue so they wouldn't end up running into each other at dawn. They had to fight almost every step of the way from the bottom of the hill to the parking lay-by they were currently occupying, but they managed it unscathed, even if he had gone a little feral on that one poor Iron Giant, making it regret every single one of its life choices that lead it to spawning directly in front of him. Especially when he was _itching_ for a fight. As soon as they spotted the lay-by lights, they pulled up and parked, neither of them in any particular mood or state to hike up to the haven not too far away and faff around in the dark with the tent or the campfire. They just dragged their blankets out of the back and slept in the cab.

Harry didn't sleep well.

He was so tired. The nightmare, the quiet break down he had on the cliff, then the run across what felt like half of Leide looking for Phon and then taking him back, the argument with Clarus, followed by the spar with Cor, and then the huge blow out _afterwards_.... He was completely wrung out. But he still couldn't sleep. In the end, he gave up, left the cab to give Kimya more space to stretch out, and sat on the bonnet of the truck to watch the dawn break across the horizon. Eating trail mix, blanket over his shoulders, thumb running over the little crystal charm.

That was when he realised what had happened.

That he had apparated in front of Cor, in front of the Retinue. And yes, they hadn't noticed at the time, but they weren't stupid men, they would cotton on very quickly and realise what he'd done, and while Harry was sure that Cor wouldn't mention it, if they questioned him, he wasn't going to lie. Which meant.... they knew he had magic.

If he hadn't been so tired, he might have had a proper panic about it. But. All he could do was sigh at his own stupidity, drink from his water bottle, and decide what was done was done. He would just have to deal with it when it was brought up.

Fingers crossed Sirius found him before then.

 

* * *

 

Kimya woke around mid-morning, a lot brighter, and ravenously hungry. Enough so that she blitzed through his offered trail mix and still wanted the greasiest plate of burger and chips that a Kenny Crow could fry up. So they headed to Cauthess Rest Area, the closest settlement, and got themselves some greasy burgers for lunch where Harry admitted his mess up quietly to Kimya.

She blinked around the mouth of her jetty before putting it back down, “Ya 'apparated'?” she asked quietly, frowning slightly, “What's that?”

He fidgeted, “Teleporting, basically.”

“Uh oh,” she muttered in realisation. He nodded miserably and she shook her head, “No, Harry, teleportin', that's a Lucis Caelum thing. I can't do it. Neither can th'Oracle. Unless Regis or King Mors decided t'make ya one'a'their Glaives or Retinue when I wasn't lookin' this jest proves yer of Royal Stock. That yer related to Regis,” she explained in hushed undertones, glancing around them in paranoia. “They were already considerin' it, ya look almost th'livin' spit'a'th'Warrior King. Jest less facial hair. But with this – ”

He shook his head, “That's not possible. We aren't related. There is no _physical_ way,” he swore. “Everyone can apparate back home. We're taught how to do it when we're sixteen, you have to sit exams to get a licence and everything,” he explained, the twins had told them all about it during DA, complaining bitterly about how painful it was to leave their toes behind that one time. Fred swore that the medi-witch put the wrong toes on his other foot because he had been walking weird ever since.

She gave him a look, “An' has anyone taught _you_ how t'do it?” she asked pointedly.

He grimaced, and shook his head. “No. That's why I haven't tried it. It's dangerous. You can leave parts of yourself behind, and there's no one here to put me back together if it goes wrong.” He could very well die if he left an organ behind. Never mind a bone, or a chunk of flesh from the wrong place. He hadn't wanted to risk it.

She hummed and sipped her drink, “Teleportin' would be useful,” she admitted, “Havin' seen how Regis zips around in a fight, I can't say it ain't worth lookin' inta. What say we head down t'the Causcherry Planes, outta sight a'th'Imperial Base, an' practice?” she suggested finishing up her bottle.

Harry fiddled with his fork. She had a point. How many times had he thought of how convenient Apparation would have been in such and such a circumstance? Not to mention that in this world there would be no such thing as anti-apparation wards either, so, extra convenient.

“Alright. I guess.... it would be easier in a fight,” he agreed before grabbing his jetty and chugging it.

 

* * *

 

They drove out and to a small unoccupied stretch of green where Harry used a length of rope to mark out a hoop like George described.

“Okay. The twins were studying this not too long ago. They said that you have to spin and try to use magic to ...jump into the loop,” he explained with a small frown. “Sort of.... pop.”

“Pop?” Kimya echoed. He nodded. “Regis doesn't tend t'pop, Catnip,” she pointed out.

“We do it differently. I think his kind of... turns him _into_ light. While this one is literally.... sliding between things, and forcing yourself into a space you weren't in before. Hence why there's a pop, and a small gush of air,” he theorised recalling the puffs of displaced air that he felt every time someone apparated near or away from him. Like a miniature vacuum when they left, all the air sucked into the empty space where they _were_ made the pop, and then like a ball smashing into a body of water and forcing it to the side when they appeared.

Harry knew he could do it. He'd done it twice now without harm. Once as a child before he even knew about magic, and once now as an adult not even twenty four hours prior.

He took a breath and focused intently first on himself, feeling out every millimetre of himself with his magic. Something he had been getting plenty of practice at while working under Kimya, when trying to figure out how to use magic without a wand. He could still feel the small nubs of elemental magic he had taken from those elemental deposits. They sat placidly in his core, not part of his magic, but not interfering with it either. There to be used but inactive otherwise. He ignored them for the time being and focused on filling everything he could with his magic, hair, toes, fingers, organs, and flesh. He even checked to make sure he got nose hair and eyelashes.

Then he focused on the loop. Imprinted it in his mind.

It was hard while trying to maintain an awareness of himself. But he managed. He pictured it intently, the grass beneath his feet, the exact shade of the sky. That bush but closer.

Nothing happened.

He twirled.

And nearly fell over.

Kimya stifled a snort of laughter.

He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and kept hold of his awareness of both locations. He was missing a step. Something.

Momentum? Magic?

What would happen if he threw his _magic_ over there?

It felt like he was being crushed in the unforgiving fist of an Iron Giant.

He fell to his knees and vomited, eyes springing open as he gasped and spewed and gagged as he nearly inhaled his own vomit and _eeeurgh_.

“Catnip!” Kimya exclaimed, her hands on his back and the pain stopped. His stomach settled.

He was in the loop.

 

* * *

 

They took a break, but now that Harry had an idea of what he was doing, once he had finished shaking he threw his all into it. He didn't vomit again, but he did have to stop a few times to settle his stomach and his hands because – he didn't think he was ever going to get used to the _crushing_ feeling that came with being unable to breathe as he moved. Like all the air was being sucked out of his lungs and compressed.

By the time they had to pack up and head to Taelpar Rest Area for the night, he almost had it down pat. But they still had shit to do and a few more doors to deal with.

Kimya was quite keen to get on with her roadtrip around the world.

They spent the night at the motel before driving up to the base again.

Which was where things started to go a little pear-shaped.

The Base Commander had changed, and the new guy was both younger, more arrogant, and immediately hostile towards Harry in particular.

He not only kept them waiting for two hours out in the yard, but came out in his _dress_ uniform, buttoned and medalled and shined to almost weaponised levels, his hair was styled and slicked back jet black, he had dark blue eyes and a handsome face, but an expression entirely reminiscent of Narcissa Malfoy as he gave them and their battered truck the stink eye. Harry fought down his knee-jerk response to hate him at first sight, reminding himself that he had made a snap judgement about Cor along much the same lines, and he had come to regret that decision.

Then the man opened his mouth and he quickly scrubbed that thought out.

He wanted to know everything they knew about the door, and in particular, what security breach lead them to even knowing of its existence. Now. Before he had them _shot_.

The second Harry opened his mouth to tell him that _they_ were the ones to tell _the base_ about the door fucking being there, the man drew a gun on him. It very nearly went to hell in a hand-basket if Ackers, the soldier that escorted them out of the base last time, hadn't intervened to explain exactly who they were, and that yes, the only reason the base even knew of the door's existence was because they originally approached them for permission to go down and tend to it.

The man immediately demurred, speaking respectfully to Kimya as the Lady Auburnbrie, relative of both the Line of Oracles and Kings.

Harry – Harry he ordered to have escorted off the premises.

“Imperial citizens are not permitted on Lucian Military grounds,” he sneered. “It is only the good word of your patron and my soldiers that means you aren't being shot for espionage. Don't make me change my mind.”

Ordinarily, he wouldn't have left Kimya behind. At all. But the guy was quite serious. And racist to shit.

However, he was treating Kimya like a Princess so he could at least be certain that she wouldn't be mistreated, or left unprotected while examining the door. He passed on instructions to Ackers about how to tend to her while she dealt with the door, and gave her his box of elixers and potions that Regis gave him for his birthday. It was confiscated immediately as a potential bomb threat, and when he objected a gun was shoved in his face again.

He was getting very annoyed with that.

Kimya then proceeded to crush said gun like tinfoil in her barehand while smiling sweetly at the commander who went chalk white.

“Ya point that thing in my boy's face again, we're going t'be havin' a problem. Ya understand?” she asked syrupy sweetly. “We're here t'do a job. T'make th'land safe. We have yer Prince's permission. Harry's already agreed t'leave it in my hands an' go handle another door elsewhere since ya seem t'have a _problem_ with him. Show some respect, t'someone who don't _need_ t'cover yer ass, but has decided t'do it anyway because it's the decent thing t'do,” she growled, her sweet smile dissolving into an ugly glare that wouldn't have looked out of place on her sister's face. “Or I'll do t'yer balls what I jest did t'that gun. Things work different out here in Lucis, young man. Time ya learned that.”

Harry could see the soldiers around them smirking and/or snickering, so it was quite clear the new Commander wasn't well liked, and in all honesty, he could definitely see why. Who the fuck goes around in a Dress Uniform on base? Seriously.

Regardless.

Harry ended up walking away from the base on his own, on foot as he couldn't drive, Iron Assault on his back, sans Clementine who was under strict instructions to bite anyone who made Kimya uncomfortable. And then he suddenly found himself with far too much distance to cover and both fiends and daemons between him and his goal to be worrying about anything else but getting from point-a to point-b as quickly as possible.

On foot. It was going to take him two days to get there. There was no two ways about it, not if he wanted to avoid travelling at night. He was going to be walking back down to Taelpar Rest Area, and then following the road up to Secullam Pass, over the bridge towards Old Lestallum where he would have to wait out the night because – he was too tired to do another all night run, especially on his own. He needed to be well rested and ready to deal with the door when he went into the Greyshire, and he already knew that was going to be an icy daemon nest. He would have to ask the motel staff for a dawn wake up because otherwise he'd probably sleep in until lunch. And then he'd be walking all the way up to the Coernix By-pass and then head west through the tunnel towards – actually, it would probably be a bit faster if he went over the river at Old Lestallum, and again up towards Ravatogh's Lambeth haven, and just keep walking north towards Burbost Souvenir Emporium to spend the night before going back down to the Grotto.

Yeah. He would do that. That made sense.

It was a long and quiet hike.

He kinda wished he took Clementine with him, but Kimya needed her more, not to mention he wouldn't be able to take her into the Greyshire, it was too cold and wouldn't be safe for her.

He fingerknitted a length of sewing thread as he walked, strengthening it up twice over, and then carefully tied the Shiva charm that Cor gave him to it, knotting it carefully so it wouldn't slip free no matter what, and then tied it around his neck to rest just above his tags. There was just too high of a chance that he may lose his backpack, or weapons, or it might fall out of a pocket, or get caught on something if it were on his wrist, so... necklace it was.

He ran a thumb down her face, the bumps and grooves becoming familiar.

Fingers crossed wearing it didn't make things colder for him in the caves.

 

* * *

 

There were a lot of soldiers in Old Lestallum.

It was a bit weird in all honesty.

Harry wasn't sure how to feel about it all when he stopped off at the Crow's Nest to try some of Kenny's Original recipe. The old tipster behind the counter wasn't keen on them, and it was obvious when he slammed down a drink that Harry hadn't ordered in front of him with a stiff, “Guy down the counter paid fer it.” Harry looked at it, and then peered down the way to see a Niff in uniform give him an smug head tilt, he patted the chair next to him pointedly and Harry – Harry put down some money for the tipster, a few hundred gil extra and asked for his order to go.

The man snorted in bitter amusement and gave him his order in a plastic container that Harry was quick to take out to the caravan to eat.

There were a few hunters sharing and they were just as tense and uncomfortable as Harry was with the military presence. In fact.

“York!” Harry squawked as he found himself swept up into a bone crushing hug by a familiar oily hunter. “What are – I thought you were in Meldacio!” he squeaked, squirming himself free of the stocky man's arms.

He let Harry go and shrugged a muscular shoulder, “I couldn't stand workin' fer Ezma anymore. Woman's a nightmare now Kim ain't there t'keep her on a leash. We all knew Ez' was a hardass, we didn't realise how much of a calmin' influence her sister was until she weren't there,” he admitted with an unhappy grimace. “Dave's already flown the coop. Ya might see him runnin' around out an' about too. Anyway, pull it up. That's one hell of a big gun fer such a lil' guy. Tell me what happened!” he demanded with a slightly pained grin.

How long ago had it been since Harry brought back word of Sahara's death?

He brushed the thought off and took a seat, noticing the way the other hunters kind of.... formed up around him, putting him closest to the caravan and furthest away from the soldiers. And as Harry snapped the Assault into position to show it off to his fellow hunters more fully, a few more got weapons out to show them off and start sharpening and cleaning them too.

 

* * *

 

Harry cleaned up and headed out at first light the next day, and he wasn't happy about it. Grumbling as he hiked up through the dirt road set aside for people to travel on while a Niff base was being constructed on the otherside of the river. That explained why there were so many soldiers in Old Lestallum.

He crossed the other river, physically feeling the temperature go up as he got closer to the Rock of Ravatogh. He was going to have to explore that later, apparently there were Wyverns there as well as Kettier Ginger which he needed for more Wyvern's Fire Rounds. He only had one left.

It took all day to walk up there, but he couldn't deny it was a pretty walk. And thanks to the large bridge, he could get a good look at his path down to the grotto once he reached the waterfall – where he could see the giant snake sunning itself on the river bed.

He sighed and headed to the Emporium to get come cold weather gear, ice picks, and some spiked toe-caps for his boots. He then proceeded to take a nice long nap in the caravan, woke up at sunset, ate a good meal, left the Iron Assault to one side with a note dated today saying that if he wasn't back in three days feel free to take the gun but please inform the tipster network that his tags were in Greyshire Grotto and for someone to get them to Kimya Auburnbrie. Rudolph in Lestallum will have everything you need to know about the gun, just look for the crazy blacksmith in the backalleys.

And then he went for a walk.

He sweet talked the giant snake into letting him pass, informing her that he wanted to go to the cold tunnels and that he wouldn't go near her nest – he didn't even know where it was actually. She let him pass stating that she wasn't hungry but next time she would eat him for disturbing her. She was more likely to forget is existence by that time, he felt, as she wasn't a particularly intelligent specimen, unlike Clem. Oh well. Given her size she probably didn't have to think over much to survive, just kill and crush whatever bothered her.

He got behind the waterfall, and felt the drop in temperature _keenly_ as he stepped into the darkness.

He couldn't have gotten his furs and what not on fast enough, holy shit.

Greyshire was very pretty with all the ice, but it was also very dark, and he found he didn't appreciate that nearly so much given the daemons that also lurked inside. However, they were surprisingly weak, even compared to Fociaugh Hollow's fare. A single lumos bullet was enough to pop the majority of them like soap-bubbles and he faced no difficulties on his hike down through winding tunnels and ice slides to the Door – spotting a sidechamber that lead to what was unmistakably a Royal Tomb. And a nest of mindflayers.

He would leave that for the Retinue to deal with.

The door was bad.

It had been feeding off the ambient magic that lingered in the Grotto, because there was no doubt in his mind that this place was supported with some kind of magic. It did not get cold enough for ice to form like this in the kind of climates that Duscae and Cleigne had. If this cave were natural, he'd be looking at quick-lime or mineral caves, not ice. But it didn't change the fact that it just wasn't doing enough for the door – it was fending off daemonic miasma from both sides and the enchantments showed it.

Time to get started.

He snapped and shook a number of hot-pockets and tucked them up into his clothes because he _knew_ his core temperature was going to tank as soon as he did this, but even so, he was unprepared for just how much as he laid hands upon the door and let it have his magic.

It was like winter was sucking on his _bones_. Breathing ice into his veins.

“ _Finite_ – ” It didn't stop. “ _F-finite!_ ” It dragged harder on his magic and his knees buckled, the spikes digging into the ice and twisting his knee to the point where he fell backwards, wrenching away from the door as his groaned and churned with magic and his vision swum and blackened at the edges.

He huddled in his furs, panting, freezing.

No. He couldn't sleep. Sleeping in ice was bad. No.

No....

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muahahah
> 
> Oh yeah. Not only did Kimya lowkey think Harry was a Lucis Caelum, now she's pretty CERTAIN of it. And she's not the only one.
> 
> And for those wondering why Harry didn't just apparate to the Greyshire, or Old Lestallum, he's never been to either location. So how?


	30. Chapter 30

He...  
was  
surprised  
to be awake...

Everything hurt.

But he wasn't dead.

He... might be frozen to the ground though. It felt like there was some kind of malfunction between his brain and his limbs where.... he wanted to move but he _couldn't_. How long had he been.... down here?

He had passed out. He knew he did. His magic had been drained to nothing, right now he was barely on fumes but back then he hadn't even had _vapour_. So. How long had he been unconscious in front of the door? Daemons wouldn't bother him this close to it, but the cold, the _cold_ would kill him even more assuredly than the locals.

Long enough that the hot pockets he had tucked up inside his coat weren't warm anymore. Long enough for the daemons to reoccupy the caves, he could hear their giggling echoing back to him – he had made sure to clear the tunnels on his way in, leaving only the Mind Flayers that didn't want to leave the Royal Tomb, so he would have a safe trip back while exhausted.

He felt sick.

He was so tired, so sleepy.

He took a deep breath, held it, and then _pushed_.

Ice cracked and broke, sloughing off his body as he forced his limbs to move, to stretch out against their frosty prison, to dig his spiked toes into the ice and slowly lever himself to his hands and knees. Everything felt too tight, and clumsy, his fingers and toes were numb and _burning_. They _hurt_. Everything hurt. Like he had been put into a sack with a bunch of bludgers and left to dangle from the goal hoops for an hour. He reached for his magic, those bare fumes, however, they weren't alone.

He pulled on the small core of heat, the fire magic he absorbed in Fociaugh Hallow filling him, washing through his body like a sinking into a hot bath. He moaned, and shuddered, his limbs giving out beneath him and leaving him curled up on the ice as he rode it out. This magic was probably why he hadn't frozen to death, and without his own magic in the way, it washed through him with ease. A nice, unanticipated, back up.

He breathed, and waited for the burning to stop, the numbness to fade. He was still rubber limbed and weak, but he wasn't dying.

He pushed himself back up again, staying clear of the door that hummed with magic, fully charged, practically _gorged_ on his magic, the fucking asshole. He glowered bitterly at it before swallowing and staggering out of the chamber. He didn't have the strength to fight with knives, he stuck to his quicksilvered, oneshotting the imps and bombs out of existence as he slowly shuffled his way to the exit.

Tentacles grabbed him from behind, wrenching him backwards.

Immediately he felt something sharp bury itself into his flesh. It wasn't _exactly_ like a dementor, but it was so close, and he had so little strength already –

He wrenched himself around and forced fire into his hands – and ripped into the Mind Flayer that had snuck up behind him.

It burst and he hit the ground roughly, cold and panting and – no! _No!_

He used all the fire magic inside of himself!

All that was left was ice magic and – it sat cold and uncomfortable inside the pit of his stomach.

He grabbed the ball of frigid magic and rammed it down the second Mind Flayer's throat, directing it into spikes and ripping the daemon apart from the inside out. It burst, and he stumbled backwards to lean against the icy wall, panting hard, his body shuddering with the drain of two different foreign magics rushing through him.

He couldn't stay here. He needed to get out.

He just had to get up the ice slide, get up and then – then he wouldn't have to fight anymore daemons. He'd just have to stagger into the sunlight, in the warm, and then wait for his magic to replenish enough to at least get him up the path. Then he could collapse face first in the caravan and sleep off the drain until he didn't feel like death in a freezer anymore.

The Gryffindor dragged himself up, and staggered the rest of the way out. Leaving the gun he didn't even have the strength to lift behind. He would pick it up when he came back to check on the door. When he had the magical strength to apparate in and out without risking splinching himself.

Unclipping the ice-pick shouldn't have been as hard as it was, but he was surprised that he could even get it off his belt. He used the weight of his own leg to stab the spikes on his toes into the ice as he slowly dragged himself up the iceslide, going slowly.

“WHOA!”

He looked up.

Boot?

CRACK

Black.

 

* * *

 

Warm.

Slowly he blinked his eyes open, frowning at the familiar blurry faces above him. Cor's face softened in relief, a small smile curling on his lips while Regis and Clarus exchanged looks, the former nervous, the latter horrified. Weskham looked strangely satisfied and triumphant, while Cid was scowling and aggressively elbowing the others out of the way as he threw another blanket over him.

They were in the caravan at Burbost, he realised hazily, staring at the familiar ugly print on the curtains at the back, the smell of cheap airfreshener, body odour, and leather in the air.

Something squeezed his hand as sleep slowly dragged him back under.

 

* * *

 

He woke to the sound of explosions, swearing, and screeching tyres.

“THEY'RE COMING UP ON THE LEFT!” Clarus' voice bellowed from the left and he felt the world tilt, arms tightened around him, around the blankets he was bundled up in, felt someone bend over him, tucking his face into their neck, they smelt – Cor. It was Cor.

He peeled his eyes open as there was another blurt of gunfire overhead and the Regalia swerved again.

Regis cursed from beside him, gun in hand, “This is doing nothing!” he cursed, banishing it to the armiger.

“Armour's too thick!” Cid shouted from the front seat where he was half-stood half-kneeling, facing backwards as he shot at the airship chasing them. Three Niflheim ships with their glaring red engines hovered overhead, one hovering barely fifty feet away, chasing them, soldiers hanging out of its open ramp, taking pot-shots at them as they swerved evasively.

He wrestled an arm from his blankets, feeling Cor inhale sharply and shift to accommodate him – he grabbed Regis' arm, making the Prince jerk and look down at him, his face spasming in alarm and surprise.

“...ssault,” he rasped before licking his lips and swallowing, “Iron Assault. Give it to me,” he rasped as he took a breath and pushed at the soldier currently covering him, Cor quickly shifted off him and let him shove the thick too hot, too stifling blankets aside. He – was wearing only a shirt and boxers. It was cold. He paused for all of a split second in confusion, but by then Regis had the Iron Assault and the Niffs were opening fire again.

“GET DOWN!” someone shouted, but a split second later he was being yanked down and covered by both Cor and Regis, bullets panged off the edge of the Regalia, Clarus' shield, and the glowing white crystal shield that Regis summoned.

He snarled under his breath, shoving the two off him and grabbing the Iron Assault, adrenaline giving him energy he didn't necessarily have, ramming the barrel into position over his thigh and wrenching the bolt back.

“Can y'all even handle that in yer current state?!” Cid shouted from the front seat as Harry stood up straight and swung the barrel of the cannon around, forcing Regis to duck to avoid getting smacked in the head, even as he braced a foot against the headrest on the backseat.

Harry ignored him as he unclipped and pulled his absolute last wyvern's fire round from its magazine and loaded it into the chamber with a harsh strike, pulling the vents shut and then taking aim.

“Cover your ears!” he shouted as he began charging. “MOVE!” he barked at Cor who was quick to throw himself flat and away from the Iron Assault, covering his ears as Harry lined his sights –

And fired.

The Regalia _jumped_ , wheels bouncing and leaving the road surface with the force of the recoil.

Weskham cursed as he pulled on the steering wheel to keep control and behind them the Imperial ship _exploded_. Spinning wildly away from them, hitting the lip of one of the meteor craters and flipping into it with a thunderous boom.

“HOLY SHIT!” Clarus yelled in disbelief.

Harry hefted the Iron Assault up before the barrel scorched the leather seating and grunted as he ejected the spent casting, the smoking shell bouncing and spinning out off the back of the Regalia as they sped away. Overhead, the other two dropships lifted even higher and fell back, clearly alarmed and unwilling to get closer now that he had, literally, pulled out the big gun.

“Nicely done, Harry!” Regis cheered.

“Where are we going?!” he asked over the sound of the whipping wind as he reopened the vents to cool the barrel.

“Away! We didn't exactly have a destination in mind!” Weskham yelled. “Where is Kimya?!”

“Schier Height's Base!” he shouted as he folded the Iron Assault back into its storage position.

“Why?!” Clarus demanded, banishing his shield.

“Commander wouldn't let me stay! Kept shoving a gun in my face, bitching about Imperials,” he explained, shivering as he hunkered back down and shoved the Iron Assault into the footwell, dragging the blankets back around himself as everyone once again settled back down into their seats.

“What?!” multiple voices demanded in various tones of harsh and sharp.

There was a confusing shuffle of bodies and voices, Harry found himself being picked up at some point, the Iron Assault was whisked away into someone's magical pocket, and the roof of the Regalia was pulled shut before Harry was able to squirm his head out of the blankets. He was once again perched in Cor's lap, and Weskham was still driving as though they were being chased and, without being able to see past a scowling Clarus or Regis, he couldn't tell if they still were.

“What happened?” he asked, frowning, “How did you even – were you following me?” he demanded.

Regis shook his head, “No. Harry, you've been sleeping for two days, and you were down in those tunnels for two days according to the note you left on your gun.” Oops. He grimaced a little, and felt Cor's grip on him tighten. “After you and Kimya left, we went to explore Costlemark Tower. I thought perhaps one of my ancestors may have used the protection of the ruins for their tomb, but, instead we found one of your Doors. Clarus received a phonecall once we left, his retainer back in Insomnia had been researching records and informed us of a tomb located in the Greyshire Grotto.”

Cor shifted guiltily against him, dropping his face into Harry's blankets.

Clarus quirked an awkward, uncomfortable half-smile, “Lover boy there jumped down the ice-slide and rammed into you. You were out _cold_. Potions weren't working so we hauled ass, grabbed the daggers out of the tomb and got you up topside as soon as possible,” he explained with an unusual degree of almost hesitancy.

“Why didn't you use the elixers?” Regis asked, hurt.

Harry grimaced, “I tried to give them to Kimya to use after the door at the base, but they were confiscated by the Commander as a potential bomb threat,” he explained defensively, “Where are my jeans?” he demanded.

There was a momentary pause before Regis pulled out his trousers and Clarus summoned his boots, Harry scowled snatching his jeans and wriggling his way into them while sat awkwardly where he was, muttering an apology to Cor when he had to lean on him. Boots quickly followed as Weskham sped back towards Schier Heights and the blankets they stole from the caravan were whisked away

“Schier Heights Base Commander,” Weskham eventually began, “Who is he? At last I heard it was General Maximus and he most definitely not the type of gentleman to wave guns around in anyone's face.”

Harry shrugged, “Never got his name. Young guy, stick firmly lodged up his ass. Swans around base in dress uniform with medals so buffed they might as well be signal lights,” he detailed with absolute disgust.

“Most assuredly not General Maximus then,” the Retainer concluded with an expression of delicate revulsion.

“Dress uniform?” Cor repeated in disbelief.

“Why'd he throw you out?” Clarus asked, frowning.

“He bitched something about not allowing Imperial Citizens on Lucian military grounds and theatened to have me shot until Kimya crushed his gun with her bare hand,” he explained with a grin, “Guy practically shat himself.”

Cor flinched a little behind him, “I do not blame him,” he muttered quietly which – Harry was fairly sure Kimya _liked_ Cor, so what was with _that_ comment? The Insomnian blushed a little, avoiding eye contact when he twisted around to look at him in confusion. Deciding not to explain himself.

“We're still being followed,” Cid reported harshly from the front seat, “We can't take another assault like that, th'old girl's tough but she ain't armoured!”

“Foot down, Weskham!” Regis ordered, twisting in his seat to peer out the back window to eye the two airships in the distance. “Schier Heights has a Royal Guard contingent, we just have to _get_ there!”

“Got anymore of those bullets?” Clarus asked Harry in good humour.

“No. That was my last one.”

“In that clip?” he asked hopefully.

“Last one total.” He was going to have to make that trip to the Rock of Ravatogh for ginger and wyvern parts sooner rather than later if he wanted more of them – he doubted the good people of Taelpar Rest Area would have any. He had ingredients for slicing shot and cluster bombing, but the range on them was no where near what he needed for those ships, he wouldn't even get half the distance if he tried to open up on them. And the piercing shot, which _would_ make the distance, and actually penetrate the hull, wasn't likely to do anything else except ping around the inside and cause a few bruises if it actually managed to hit anyone by that point. He _could_ reinforce them with a little magic, put a delayed explosion hex on them, but he wasn't good enough at maths to figure out how _long_ to delay the spell by in runic and arithmetic terms to prevent it from exploding in his hand, or in the Iron Assault, or even a week from now.

Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20, and he was beginning to realise that taking the easier courses at Hogwarts so he could coast by on as little work as possible was kicking him in the teeth right now.

They swerved aggressively around a slow moving truck and Cor had to grab hold tightly or risk Harry toppling headfirst into the footwell at Regis' feet. The Gryffindor cursed a little, wriggling, he still felt jelly limbed and exhausted, more so now that the adrenalin from waking up to _gunfire_ had worn off. The skin crawling feeling of too much contact was beginning to set in too, the spot between his shoulderblades was _hurting_ from being tense for so long and he really wanted to get out of the fucking car right now, or at least _off_ Cor's lap. He wasn't – he didn't – where did they even stand with each other now? Harry had kissed him back in the tent only a few days ago, hugged him, and said goodbye without a single intention of ever seeing him again after that. And now this. Unconscious for several days like some damsel in distress, bundled up in his lap, and held tightly like some kind of teddybear and he didn't know how to feel – and because of that he was getting uncomfortable.

The rest of the journey passed in strained silence, with people looking over their shoulders and out of the windows at the looming distant figures of the Imperial airships following them. Harry – eventually got to the point where he fell asleep again and didn't even realise it. Not until they stopped and he felt Cor attempting to pick him up again and jerked awake.

“I'm fine!” he yelped.

Cor let him go and all that happened was he ended up slipping down into the footwell with a squeak. He peered down at him with an expression somewhere between amused and exasperated, but very _uncomfortably fond_ , it made Harry flush immediately in embarrassment and want to run for the goddamn hills.

“You haven't eaten in four days, let me help,” he said even as he reached down and hooked Harry by his armpits and hauled him out as if he weighed no more than a disagreeable bag of potatoes. It should not have been as hot as it was and Harry wanted to crawl into a hole and die now please, if Voldemort could come and just – _Avada_ him right now, he would appreciate it. Write him a thank you card and everything.

“Yes. Great. Thanks. You've – helping. Yes. You have helped. Put me down now please,” he pleaded, mentally cursing the fact that he was white as fucking milk because right now he could physically _feel_ the burning of his face and knew he'd gone bright red, in front of all the soldiers at Schier Heights Base.

Thankfully they only had eyes for Regis, so he was spared all embarrassment save for Ackers who immediately made a beeline for him rather than stand to attention as soon as everyone realised that the Royal Retinue were on site. Harry swallowed his mortification as Cor set him on his feet, but kept a hovering hand at the small of his back in case he needed support – thankfully he stopped _touching_ , and weak knees aside, this was important. He left Kimya in this man's care.

“How is Kimya?” he asked as soon as the young man got close.

He quirked a small smile, “Madder than a Gaiatoad at Ravatogh. Commander still won't let her near the door. She's been wearing a hole through the guest quarter's floor with all her pacing.”

“Why won't the Base Commander allow her access?” Cor demanded quietly, frowning. “She has official permission. I was there when His Royal Highness wrote and sealed it himself.”

Ackers straightened up, “Sir. Commander Decimus believes the door can potentially be weaponised, sir. He has research teams working on reverse engineering or activating it using what information he was able to glean from the Lady Auburnbrie before she stopped answering to him, sir,” he explained with a quick salute to the Staff Sergeant whose face soured with recognition of the name, apparently Commander Asshole was known to the Former Assface. Who'da thunk it?

Harry blanched, “Get those research teams _away_ from it! There are fucking _Daemons_ sealed behind those doors!”

Ackers went white.

“Take us to the Lady Auburnbrie and then issue _my_ orders to the Research teams to pull back. If Commander Decimus takes issue with it, tell him to talk to me,” Cor ordered, pitching his voice into a menacing rumble that only made the older man pale further.

“Sir, yes sir.” He snapped to, saluted, and hustled them towards the base – thankfully to the _other_ entrance that Commander Decimus just came out of with a fucking honour-guard of Royal Guard at his back. Whatever he _oozed_ at Regis was lost as the door swung shut behind them, and Cor made a rude noise of disgust as they hurried after Ackers through the concrete corridors.

“He hasn't changed since Basic,” he muttered in disgust, which explained where the two had met.

“He's always had that stick up his ass?” Harry asked sardonically as they rounded a corner.

Cor went a little pink at that and avoided eye contact which – oh. _OH!_

“Is he your _ex?!_ ” Harry choked on his own laughter.

“I would _really_ rather not talk about this,” the Staff Sergeant muttered, going even redder, which for _him_ was a fucking achievement. Cor did not blush much but he was actually approaching _red_ cheeks instead of just pink ears! This was hilarious.

“S-small world,” Harry cackled.

“Catnip!” Kimya's voice interrupted as Ackers jumped to the side to avoid the door he was about to open being slammed into his face as the woman flung it open at the sound of his voice. Harry had a split second to register her voice before she slammed into him and he felt his feet leave the floor as she swept him up in a hug that contained all of her frantic worry and – probably – a lot of her frustration because _owwww_.

“R-ribs, Kimya, y-you're breaking them,” he wheezed and then sucked in a gasp when she released him enough to do so. Then she hugged him properly, he patted her back, listening with half an ear as Clementine suddenly started hissing from the woman's pockets about how he was back. “Sorry I took so long.”

“I'm jest glad yer alright, Catnip,” she warbled into the side of his neck, her voice suspiciously wet sounding as she hugged him. “I was so worried when ya didn' come back on th'fifth day.”

He shot Cor a warning glare when he saw the other teenager opening his mouth.

He eyed Harry, clearly considering his options and very _un_ threatened by his glare, but ultimately decided to close his mouth which _good for him_. Kimya might have put the fear of crushed testicles in him, but Harry could do _so much worse_. Like turn them into rabid dire weasels. Or cacti. That would wipe the smile off his face, smug ~~(cute)~~ little shit. Harry turned away from him, feeling his face beginning to flush again at the smile he was being given by the Insomnian.

“Tell me ya had better luck with th'Grotto than I did here,” Kimya eventually begged as she pulled away and calmly dashed her eyes and sniffed. She looked a little manic, but otherwise fine as she – wait... Harry eyed her and glanced down at himself. Since when... where they the same height? She must have realised as well because she huffed a laugh, “Well, look who got a growth spurt at long last,” she teased with a grin, nudging him in the side.

He scowled, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn't generally get _spurts,_ he grew in very slow and tiny increments over the school year, or not at all normally. He had gotten used to being the shortest boy in his year – and the one below. Fred and George used him as an armrest so often that he eventually developed the habit or just swinging an arm back to see how quickly they jumped away when he nearly man-checked them.

“Grotto's fine,” he explained, _not_ looking at Ackers or Cor as he spoke, “Whatever magic created the ice caverns there was also supporting the door. I'd still like to go back with you at a later date to make _certain_ , but that one should be fine,” he explained and thankfully Kimya didn't look at the other two either as she agreed.

“I will leave you here, Sir, Ma'am, Hunter,” Ackers intoned, saluting Cor and Kimya, and giving Harry a respectful nod.

“Lieutenant,” Cor returned with a salute of his own as the man turned on heel and rushed off, presumably to tell the research teams to get the fuck away from the door. “Come on, we should rejoin Regis and the others,” the Staff Sergeant said with a very odd look on his face, one that was half dread, but half amusement and anticipation.

The look on Decimus' face when he saw Cor was certainly a fucking picture.

Harry had only ever seen that look on Malfoy's face before, that time Ron threw a crocodile's heart on his head and it bounced off his face to land in his lap. The expression of horror.

The look on his face when he saw _Harry_ could have curdled milk.

Regis pretended not to noticed as he smiled at them, “Ah, wonderful, Commander Decimus, I am sure you are familiar with Lady Auburnbrie and her companion, Harry Potter. He had been absolutely instrumental in our travels previously, assisting us with a number of Solheim ruins, lending aid in our escape from Lestallum, assisting in the clearing out of both Balouve Mines and Crestholm Channels,” he explained happily, politely ignoring how Decimus' expression became steadily more and more fixed and panicked the longer he spoke.

“Ignoring that,” Harry interrupted shortly, making the guy uncomfortable was all well and good, _but_ , “We had Imperial Ships on our tail. Did we lose them before arrival?” he asked, looking to Clarus who shook his head.

“No. They've hung back and it looks like they're being joined by more from Vaullerey Base west of Old Lestallum,” he explained making Harry frown.

“Isn't that still under construction? The hunters in Old Lestallum were talking about it.”

“It's _been_ under construction for a year now,” the Shield explained with a grimace before turning to Decimus, “Get some of the Guard together, send them with the Lady Auburnbrie and Harry here down to the door in the caverns.”

The man's face was pained, “Sirs, the door is of _Solheim_ origin, the potential weaponisation – ”

“Do you want daemons chewing on your ass?” Harry demanded shortly, making him pull up short and stare at him. “Because fucking around with those doors is how you get daemons chewing on your ass. Just ask Crestholm Channels,” he sneered bluntly. “Do you even read Solheim? Do you know the _function_ of that door? How it operates, how its powered, what its made of?” he demanded irritably.

“And what would an unwashed Imperial know of it? What's more, have the utter lack of manners to speak in such a way in front of Royalty?” the Commander snapped back with as much dignity as he could muster.

Harry glanced at Regis, wanting to say something about how said Royalty dropped sand down his swimming trunks barely a week ago and screamed like a girl when an octopus startled him, and how he acted like a giddy schoolboy over the strangest of things, and everyone threw oranges at his face, somehow he didn't think manners were such an issue. But instead, he looked at the Base Commander tiredly.

“He's not my Prince. The fuck should I care?” he asked plainly.

“Also, manners are not the issue at this present time,” Regis interrupted calmly. “See them to the door Commander Decimus, and cease your efforts to investigate it. I value the lives of my people far too much to risk them to the doors my forefathers sealed for very good reason.”

He grit his teeth and bowed his head, “Of course, Your Highness.” He turned to the Royal Guard behind him, men and women in – admittedly _very_ nice uniforms – and snapped his fingers, gesturing them towards Harry and Kimya. “Take them to the door in the caverns,” he commanded shortly through gritted teeth.

“ _About damn time!_ ” Kimya snarled.

An airship passed overhead and everyone flinched.

“Go, and be quick!” Clarus commanded as he summoned his sword and shield to bear.

“We will organise the offence up here. Make sure the door stays shut,” Regis told them as his blade flashed to hand.

“Stay safe,” Cor ordered quietly, his voice almost drowned out by Decimus turning and roaring orders to the soldiers racing to their posts.

Harry and Kimya nodded before following after the Royal Guard.

“It is a distance to the cavern entrance,” one of the women warned them.

“Then we'd best start running, hadn't we?” Kimya stated flatly, giving her a pointed glare.

She grinned behind her veil, and the whole lot of them started running.

It was only when they were halfway there that Harry realised – the Retinue had all of his weapons. He was unarmed. Again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decimus and Cor being a thing back in the day was LITERALLY out of left field. My fingers wrote it and then my brain caught up and went WAIT WHAT, but I thought it was brilliant so I left it in lmao XDDD
> 
> I promise this fic isn't dead. But working 10+ hours a day is kinda exhausting, I'm also studying - I just got my Provisional and will hopefully be learning to drive soon, so I've been going through the Highway Code and the Signs and what not in order to pass my theory. Once that's done I'll be putting wheels on the road and getting a CBT which is a motorcycle licence here in the UK. But I'm not putting my butt on the road before I get some decent leathers and a helmet. Because Momma worked A&E as a nurse before becoming a Barrister. I've seen Road Rash. UH UH. NO WAY. NOT FOR ME. NO THANK YOU.
> 
> Remember kids, safety first. If you're going to motorbike, wear leather. If you can't afford it, double layer your denim. Or you'll be in for a bad time of it. Seriously.


	31. Chapter 31

The Head Researcher was still arguing with Lieutenant Ackers by the time Harry and Kimya got down into the caverns with their escort and found the tiny broken crawl hole that lead into the empty cavity in front of the door. He was an older man, thinning grey hair, a bushy moustache that reminded him far too much of Uncle Vernon, and large sausage-like singers that he was taking great effort to jab into the Lieutenant's chest as though he could force the importance of his words into him physically, since he didn't seem to be listening. Harry hated the man already. Never mind that he was fucking around with something that he clearly didn't have the slightest idea of how to handle, but on top of that he was showing how much of a shitty attitude he had to others.

Thankfully the appearance of the Royal Guard immediately shut the man up, though unfortunately not for long.

The second Harry and Kimya made a move to the door he was blustering and trying to stop them, ordering the Guard to prevent them from getting near the 'Priceless Solheim Artefact'. Everyone ignored him as Kimya laid her hands upon it, the whole chamber lighting up vivid bloody red as she fed her magic into it and Harry hunkered down by her ankles to start transcribing the runes in his notebook which was  _thankfully_  still in the backpocket of his jeans. He ignored the researcher as he suddenly started barking at his assistants to record them, get some readings damnit.

When one of them realised he was actively translating the runes then and there as he was writing them down, there was a great flurry of interest and the Head Researcher began to practically breathe down his neck – actually, not practically, he  _was_. Harry stabbed him in the knee from behind with his pencil.

“Stop fucking  _breathing_  on me,” he snarled grumpily as the man squawked.

Taking a hand away from where he was rubbing his knee, he jabbed one of his sausage fingers at Harry's notes, “Where did you learn this? Solheim is a dead language, who taught you?” he demanded, rubbing his knee furiously with one hand, grimacing in pain.

Harry scowled, “I picked it up. Latin isn't  _that_  hard,” he grit out, and had to jump forward a step to catch Kimya when she staggered away from the door, her knees buckling as she wheezed for air.

“Elixer, m'pocket,” she managed to get out, sagging in his arms as the door darkened, but continued to hum audibly. Harry grimaced as he was forced to haul her backwards a few paces to avoid getting trampled by overly interested and careless scientists as they grabbed at the door, trying to touch and examine it, and practically step all over their feet in the process. Thank god Kimya wore steel-toecaps.

He threw a plaintive look at Lieutenant Ackers and the Royal Guard, “Please get rid of these morons?” he pleaded as he rummaged in the front pocket of Kimya's skirts for the promised Elixer, having to unwind Clem from the neck of it before breaking it into her stomach. She sighed in relief as her magic replenished. Meanwhile Ackers nodded and, with the help of the female Royal Guard who seemed to be in charge, ushered all the scientists out of the way, practically frog marching them back to the base and not giving any of them a chance to protest.

Straightening up, Kimya stroked his hair and planted a kiss on his forehead. “I'm good. Thanks Catnip,” she said, making one of the larger Guards snort.

“Catnip?” he asked a grin in his voice, “This got something t'do with Leonis?” he asked, brown eyes crinkled with teasing mirth.

Harry went red and glared at him, “No,” he hissed, not in the least bit gratified when he lifted his hands and took a step back, his eyes still creased with what was no doubt a huge shit eating grin. And how the fuck did he know Cor anyway?

Kimya ignored the by play as she returned to the door and fed it once again.

And then something caught the edge of Harry's ears.

He paused, frowning.

That.... wasn't a natural sound. Not for a  _cave_  anyway.

He crept towards the gap, and crouched down in the shadows out of sight, tilting his ear to the opening, concentrating and closing his eyes, listening hard.

–  _the auburnbrie and a boy – olheim linguistics specia –  
_ **take them. Priority targets – fessor Besithia – nother magic use –  
– ** _derstood. Over and out._

He pulled away from the opening, “We're not alone,” he murmured lowly to the nearest Guard who had been watching him curiously.

Like a pride of lions that had just scented blood, the Royal Guard stiffened and went from grinning casuals to sharp eyed predators with the flip of a switch. Harry retreated to stand with Kimya as she took a wobbly step away from the new fully charged door. He touched her elbow in concern, she nodded, flashing him a smile and a thumbs up. She was fine to fight. He grimaced in annoyance, wishing he knew how to transfer magic. The doors just ripped it out of him, and while he could pull up the Elemental deposits and even use healing magic, he couldn't push magic into someone for  _them_  to take and use like putting water into someone else's bottle. He stepped back as she pulled her plated gloves out of her pocket and tugged them on, grimacing a little again as he was reminded of his lack of a weapon.

Needs must. He picked up the nearest reasonable looking rock. This one had a nice little sharp stone edge. He'd have to steal whatever gun or blade he could get his hands on first but, until then, he had good enough aim and a strong enough arm to make a rock give someone a surprisingly bad day. Maybe he should start looking into learning how to fist-fight, or use a sling. Maybe both? Both sounded good.

The wait was so much worse than actually fighting he decided as they waited silently in the poorly lit chamber for something,  _anything_ , only.... nothing. Eventually one of the Royal Guards shook his head and crawled out, giving the huge cavern a cursory look over.

“Clear,” he called.

Harry scrunched his nose, he knew what he heard. But... he came when they gestured to him.

He crawled out and the Guard on the otherside scooped him up in one arm, it was Chuckles, the grinning asshole, who drew a blade and warped them to the otherside of the cavern in the smoothest apparation Harry had ever felt in his life, like.... not quite swimming, more sliding? Through something both cold and warm but tingly. He landed in the grass atop a patch of flowering allural shallots, shaking crystals from his hair and feeling it crackle across his skin. Raw magic in mineral form, huh?

He watched from the grass as the other Guards crawled out through the hole and finally Kimya followed, at the back, hidden and bracketed by all of them as the VIP – and that was when everything kicked off.

Gas canisters were suddenly launched through the tunnel, men in masks dropped in through the broken cracks in the ceiling, and from the tunnel behind them – a soldier slammed into Chuckles next to Harry, throwing him several steps away and nearly down into the cavern floor below where a group of men in gas masks were armed with guns, pointing at the Guards around Kimya, all of whom warped down to meet them before they could fire. Kimya, of course, jumping down after them to land like a  _rock_  on top of a man with a large spear, audibly breaking his shoulder with her foot.

A gas-mask loomed out of the black, faceless, bug-eyed, black rubber hands reaching out at him. And himself, reflected starkly in the afternoon light from the ceiling cracks over head, in empty black lenses.

Harry bludgeoned him in the face with his rock, shattering the glass lenses that reflected his startled face, alarmingly young, like, fuck, when was the last time he had actually seen himself? He winced as the man behind the mask howled, the glass lenses crumpling into his  _eyes_. He hit him again and again until he went down. At which point Harry grabbed his gun, braced a foot against his chest, and wrenched it off it. Chuckles fleshed past him, rapier spearing through a third soldier's forehead, right between his glass lenses.

“Get out of here kid!” he barked as with another strange ' _THOOMPT_ ' sound more gas canisters shot through the air to bounce off the ceiling above them. Chuckles whipped around and booted it back where it came from down the cavern.

“Not without Kimya!” he snapped, staring down into the hazy green-grey smog below.

It wasn't easy spotting her. He could see flashes of gunfire that made his heart seize, blue-white warping and shields. But... no, here. A fast moving shadow, ducking and weaving in that familiar way, then he saw it, a single flick of a brown boot and a whirl of skirts breaching the smog, and a shadow dropped with a cry and a crunch as she landed. He look a run up and leapt, sailing through the air, ignoring Chuckles' yell behind him, a split second before he  _landed_  with a bone jarring  _crunch_  on top of a soldier creeping up behind her.

“It's me!” he called, spotting her whirl around, a fist lashing out where his head had been a split second earlier.

“Catnip!”

“We need to get out of here! They're aiming for us!” he shouted even as another soldier appeared from the smog and met Kimya's fist with enough force that he dropped like a stone then and there with a wet sounding crunch. His eyes burned, and he turned away, feeling sick.

One of the Royal Guard was suddenly there in front of them. “Time to go!” she commanded, grabbing Kimya with one hand and throwing her broadsword with the other. She shrieked in surprise and a split second later they were gone in a flash of blue-white light. A second later, Harry felt a hand on his forearm, he turned, half expecting a Guard, only to come face to face with another gas-mask.

He would spare time later to be embarrassed by the yelp he gave out, but in the split second as he tried to raise his gun, it was shoved aside – and then something hot and  _wet_  splashed across his face and the man in the mask  _screeched_ , falling away from him as something silver flashed from the corner of his eye.

There was still a hand on his arm.

 _Just_  a hand.

The Royal Guard scooped him up and a second later they were sliding out with a crackle of shattering magic crystal atop the scaffolding that lead to the tunnel that was their exit.

“Kimya!” he called, spotting her at the patch of allural shallots he had landed in earlier – and then he saw the  _mace_  swinging out of the darkness at her back. At her  _head_.

He threw himself at her, cold filling his veins, and felt his magic slice forward.

He slid out in front of her, magic shattering around him, blowing off his skin as he threw his arms up and summoned everything he had, mouth open, forgetting to even use his vocal cords as everything in him screamed  _PROTEGO!_

The air shattered.

Golden magic exploded around them, and the mace  _shattered_  as it hit, exploding into splinters as golden crystalline light crackled through the air between them.

There was a single breathless moment where everyone stopped at the ear-ringing sound, at the unexpected explosion of light, and then at the huge shimmering crystalline gold and white shield held in front of him.

And then all  _hell_  broke loose.

Chuckles was quick off the mark, between the mace wielding Imperial in front of him opening his mouth, and the actual words “HE'S A LUCIS CAELUM!” going up, the Royal Guard was there with his rapier – and shutting the man up by spearing him between his teeth and out through the back of his head with a single brutal thrust of his blade.

And then the other Guards started throwing magic around like confetti.

The ground shook and suddenly thick ochre coloured smog flooded through the tunnels, bringing with it a  _horrible_  bitter taste that reminded him of some unholy union of onion, mustard powder, and a bit of public swimming pool thrown in for flavour. He could  _feel_  his nose hair start to curl even as his eyes burned and began to water. What the fuck was this stuff? His throat felt like it was on fire, it was getting hard to  _breathe_.

He felt Kimya's familiar calloused fingers around his wrist as he started coughing, coughing  _hard_ , hard enough that he could  _feel_  it pulling on a muscle in his groin, until it felt like he couldn't even wheeze enough air in to try again. He could hear her hacking as well, wheezing and stumbling as she lead the way through the tunnels back the way they came, following after the lightning strike flickers of the Royal Guard up ahead as they cleared the path. He felt her drop his wrist as another group of Imperials blind-sided them in the dark smoky tunnel, he smashed a man in the side of the head with the butt of his stolen rifle and needed to brace himself against the wall to wheeze for a second as the world started spinning around him.

A Guard flickered in front of him and dragged his arm over his head, hurrying him up the tunnel towards the exit, to the bright white light. He could hear Kimya's boots following after them and concentrated on just putting one foot in front of the other as they climbed the steep stone towards the sun. Several Guards up ahead yelling and flashing, magic and weapons dealing death in equal measure as they put down any Imperial that so much as showed their faces, never mind their weapons.

Outside he could see the trashed remnants of a contingent of Imperials through burning tear-blurred eyes as he finally got out into the fresh air and inhaled it so hard he ended up vomiting onto the grass.

He tasted blood.

It was blood.

He vomited a cup's worth of blood and bile onto the grass, much to the Royal Guard that pulled him out's obvious worry if the wash of healing magic that he practically bathed him in a split second later was any indication.

“K-Kimya,” he rasped, gesturing at him to tend to her even as he craned his head to find her.

She was not there.

Everything felt cold and far away all of a sudden as he realised this. Casting hazy wet and burning eyes across the faces of the gasping and wheezing Royal Guard as they pulled their veils down to gulp down fresh air, hands braced against knees, healing magic being traded between them as fingers probed bullet and weapon wounds with careful touches.

More than half of the Royal Guards were there  _but she wasn't_.

He ducked under the Guard's arm and bolted back into the tunnels, ignoring the shouting of the men and women behind him as he vanished into the smog without hesitation, calling his magic up and casting a  _lumos_  charm to hover just above him. The cat was out of the bag, there was no reason to hide it anymore. Everyone in this fucking tunnel knew he had magic, and thus he was under no obligation not to use it.

The gas burned even worse a second time.

His eyes were  _pouring_ , his nose too, it was hot and wet and itchy and he  _knew_  it was bleeding, he could taste the salty tang of his own blood as he ran down the tunnels.

He was getting dizzy, it sounded like there was thunder in the tunnels, the distant sound of dragons – he supposed it wouldn't have been so strange. The Imperials already drove fiends at the Lucian Army according to Cor, sometimes even luring Daemons and airdropping them into bases if they were able to secure them. Filling the caverns with dragons couldn't have been hard. They had flying bricks. Big cinder blocks that didn't have wings but big glaring red eyes and pac-man mouths.

The first daemon he saw he shot, right through its huge glassy black eye.

He shot it again when it dropped but didn't vanish.

It didn't even twitch when he kicked it just to make sure.

Had they been experimenting on daemons too? It wouldn't surprise him. They had to have done at least a little to figure out how to make Magitek soldiers that vanished the same way – plausible deniability, assassins that banished like vapour when killed, far too open for abuse. He wondered how many house elves would never be recognised in history as assassins? Would Dobby have eventually killed the Malfoys? Would he have had to kill himself for doing it?

He took out a group of four daemons coming up from a side tunnel. None of them vanished either, but they dropped like the first, one of them even screeched when the bullet that went through its fellow clipped it in the side. Its voice was twisted and distorted through its broken tusks and tentacles like nothing Harry had ever heard before. He destroyed it before it could do anything unexpected – like a Ronin. Or Ayakashi.

He needed to find Kimya.

He staggered through the tunnels, coughing and hacking, forcing himself to keep his eyes open to seek her out. He killed every daemon he met. All of them the same kind with their huge glassy black insect eyes, broken tusks, and tentacles.

He found her eventually. She was tucked up in a tiny alcove where the smog was thinner. Her breath rattled, blood dripped from her nose, mouth, and eyes, staining the front of her blouse.

He almost collapsed on top of her as he wrapped his arms around her and then  _pushed_ , slicing his magic back out to the surface, to the clean air, to the  _medics_.

They tumbled into the grass, into the fresh air.

“THEY'RE HERE!” a voice shouted, and a human in gleaming black and silver clothing was pouring soft minty-green-healing into him, into Kimya.

And then he felt everything slip through his fingers like smoke.

 

* * *

 

It was....

blurry

Hazy and kind of jumbled.

Cor was beside him, holding his hand, knuckles against his warm lips, looking pained and  _furious_  and helpless. It was dark.

Weskham was arguing with someone in a white coat.

Warm lips ere on his forehead, a familiar scent, Cor, a murmured goodbye for now.

Regis had his hand, his words disjointed, distant, unintelligible, as though heard from under water. There was light.

Cor. Sat beside him, holding his hand, a book open over his knee as he read to him quietly, his voice a pleasant distant rumble. Something about chocobos.

Regis, snoring softly next to him, arm over his legs, Weskham laid a blanket over his shoulders.

Clarus stood stiffly next to his bed in full uniform. His hair pulled back. Royal Guard black and silvers straining at the seams on his chest. He had a small black box in his hand that he gently set on the bedside table. Murmuring something about how he was going to be upset when he woke.

Cor. Holding his hand up to his lips again, face conflicted and angry, as if coming to a decision he didn't want to make.

Cid sat next to him, feet up on the bed, car magazine in hand, giving someone an ugly look. His fingers drummed unhappily on the bed next to Harry's hand.

Cor again, in the dark, warm fingers laced with his, gently squeezing, quiet words. He couldn't understand them, at all, but he fought to stay awake longer, this seemed important, struggled not to go under gaain into sticky darkness. He wanted to listen, needed to. If not to the words then at least to his  _voice_. Please. Just a bit.... longer....

Commander Decimus looked down his nose at him. ' _I don't know what he sees in you, but you had best wake up already,_ ' his voice sneared as if rising from a flushing toilet.

 

* * *

 

_I need to prove it. To them, to myself._

_I'll be back._

_I promise._

 

* * *

 

He woke to the sound of a toilet flush and raised voices, unable to open his heavy glued shut eyes as he just lay in a bed that felt as though it were grafted to his limbs, to the sound of Regis, Clarus, and Weskham, worried and angry in equal measure. He could hear the faint wheeze of what was unmistakably a respirator, the faint beep-beep-beep of a heart monitor, and familiar footsteps returning to his bedside. Cid.

He listened as the doors opened, and the familiar stampede of footsteps rushed into the room.

“He is not here. He truly went then,” Regis' voice moaned, sounding stressed and gruff.

“Damnit,” Cid cursed. “'E could've at least  _waited_  til'e woke,” he growled.

“He'd have never gone if Harry woke,” Clarus' voice denied heavily. “He thinks he's got something to prove, if Harry woke up he'd never even try it, too busy fussing after him to risk it.”

“Or too scared of losing him,” Weskham corrected solemnly, causing the Shield to make a noise of reluctant agreement even as Regis growled in helpless frustration, shoes tapping as he began to pace.

“I do not  _understand_ , why is he doing this? Why now? No one had returned from the Trials, ever! It is why they were sealed shut in the first place! Though why Lord Bahamut has  _opened_  them now – ” There was a rustle of fabric as he cut himself off, indicating some manner of violent gesture.

“Because,” Clarus stated, “he isn't a Shield. And he doesn't think I deserve to be one either. He thinks needs to prove to himself that he's worthy of it before he has the right to protect a Lucis Caelum.  _Any_  Lucis Caelum.”

“Is that why you wouldn't take the Trial? Because of what it may mean if you fail?” Weskham asked softly.

“We're at war. What I think and feel doesn't matter, not really,” Clarus pointed out plainly, sounding depressed. “I'm not going to leave Regis to satisfy my ego, I'm not allowed. I was raised for this, whether I'm worthy or not doesn't matter. It's my job to protect him. Cor – doesn't have that. He's a first gen from an immigrant family serving the Royal Family and he's  _young_. He doubts he got to where he is on his own merit. Part of him is always going to wonder if his being with us is a political ploy to silence the more vocal refugees who aren't happy with the way they're treated. On top of that, he isn't an official member of the Retinue, but on attachment at your father's command. He isn't one of us officially, unofficially, or even technically. Then Harry happened. I happened. And now this. Kid's head is a mess of guilt and blame right now. His ex ain't helping things either with that snide anti-Immigrant attitude either. How the hell they got together for any length of time I will question to the end of days.”

“Cor  _does_  have a type,” Weskham's voice pointed out with a pale shadow of humour. “And Commander Decimus is a very good commanding officer, dress uniform habits aside.”

“Either way,” Cid interrupted grumpily. “The kid's gone ter get his fool-self killed. How long's'e been gone?”

“He left at first light,” Clarus stated grimly. “He'll be  _in_  the Trials by now. I've no doubt he'll survive until the end but, not a single one of the Royal Guard that Decimus sent to investigate the cavern entrance came back. And there's no way to go in if someone is already in there. Impossible to call for back-up.”

“We – we must wait. And have hope,” Regis concluded unhappily. And Harry felt someone take his hand. “Please wake soon, little cousin. Someone must rein that boy in and Astrals know he does not listen to us anymore,” the Prince intoned quietly, pressing Harry's heavy fingers to his forehead as though in prayer.

He tried to twitch his fingers but nothing responded to him. He couldn't even open his eyes.

He was awake, but he couldn't  _move_.

He felt his stomach turn over and clench in fear – only, no, it didn't. His heartrate didn't even flutter either. The steady beep-beep-beep remaining unchanged. The Retinue sighed and conversation began around him again, focusing on the week of clean up activity that had been occurring (he had been unconscious for a week?), talk of how Daurell Caverns was still filled with poison gas and too hazardous to go down without a very specific kind of gas-mask. Of which they had no working examples thanks to Harry putting holes in them all. He.... didn't remember destroying any gas-masks save that first one he broke with a rock. And there were no Imperials left to question as anyone unfortunate enough to be in those tunnels was dead.

He didn't hear them, too focused on his feet. On wiggling his toes.

He remembered Aunt Petunia watching Holby City once, one of those evening soap-operas on the BBC but one set in a hospital. It was an episode about a coma patient about about how they needed to relearn how to talk. Step one was always figuring out how to wiggle your toes.

So that was what he focused on. Letting chatter and speculation and arguments wash over him until the medic in charge of the hospital wing came and ushered them all out, excepting Cid who patted his hand and told him that it was his turn to man the watch, if Harry wanted anything he had better speak up now and say as much. Talking was, of course, not happening. So he went back to focusing on his toes.

By the time he managed to get it to twitch under the covers, the only sound in the room aside from the respirators and heart monitors were Cid's thunderous snores.

Time to get the rest of those piggies wiggling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPS lol
> 
> Accidentally posted this into 'You Had Me At Hello' instead of Hated. That would have...... been odd. Anyway - THE GILGAMESH SHIELD TRIALS!!!! I bet you've all been wondering how this was going to happen, IF it was going to happen. We're finally here~


	32. Chapter 32

It took far longer than he would have liked to admit to open his eyes. Once he managed to get all of his toes going he focused on his fingers, and then getting his eyes open. Everything else was.... not easy, but _easier_ than them. It took pretty much all night before he was able to peel aside his blankets and get out of bed, Cid continuing to snore next to him, completely oblivious. He aimed for where he heard the toilet flushing earlier, and a slightly open door that was very clearly a bathroom by the sign on it. Just – just crossing the _room_ was exhausting. He ended up having to sit on the toilet for a good ten minutes because his legs felt like jelly and he wasn't sure he was going to be able to get back into bed. He managed it though, eventually. Shivering with cold as he stumbled to his bed and realised, for the first time, that the bed on the left, on the otherside of where Cid was sitting, had Kimya.

She looked awful.

Pale, grey faced, her eyes bruised and sunken in, tubes in her mouth as a respirator breathed for her, the faint beep-beep-beep of a heart monitor being for _her_ , not him. She was hooked up to IV lines that, upon a check of himself, he realised he must have been given not too long ago as there were wads of cotton wool at his elbow. Which explained why he didn't feel dehydrated or sick with hunger. She _had_ been in those caves for longer, it stood to reason that it would take longer for her to recover. At least she was alive and safe. He had gotten to her in time.

He fell asleep with that thought firm in his head.

And woke to frustrated _worried_ voices.

Cor still wasn't back.

The Tempering Grounds were still locked up tight, meaning that he was _alive_ at the very least but.... it had been two days. Two days of being on his own in a daemon infested cave with some manner of immortal _Judge_ who would destroy anyone unworthy of being the Shield to the King. No one had survived. Ever. It was said that even _Gilgamesh_ the First Shield, the Shield of the Founder King, was found unworthy when Bahamut first opened the Tempering Grounds, for he went in, and never returned.

None of them noticed his eyes opening, too caught up with their worry and genuine fear. Regis looked like he was trying not to cry as he adjusted his cufflinks again, Clarus had the look of a man whose friend had just died, Harry couldn't see Cid's expression from where he was lying but Weskaham.... Weskham had his lips pressed together tight, his breathing shaking and wet as he fussed pointlessly over Kimya's blankets, making sure they laid flat and neat, when they already were.

They looked like Cor had already died, and they just hadn't received the confirmation of it yet.

Anger and fear curled in the pit of his stomach.

He waited until they left the room before climbing out of bed. There was no way they would let him out of this bed if they knew he was awake, never mind actually go and find Cor. He found his glasses on the bedside table and strapped them on, grimacing at the feeling of his greasy hair, before pushing the thought aside and hunting for a pair of slippers and a dressing gown. The sky was ominous and grey, it was likely to be very cold outside.

The problem was that he was still weak. Just hunting down a pair of slippers and a dressing gown was enough to sap him of what energy he had, and he was forced to sit at the bottom of Kimya's bed just to regain some strength. He was going to have to take this slow, and careful. It was a good thing his magic was fully charged, heck, it felt better than ever. It felt like he could call on it whenever and however he wanted. Maybe he just needed that final push to get over whatever mind-block he had against wandless magic?

He patted Kimya's leg and promised to be back soon, he was just going to go and find Regis' dumbass. The last thing he anticipated when he stepped out of the medical bay was a pair of Royal Guards stood at the door, who were just as surprised to see him as he was to see them.

“You're awake!” one of them blurted, stating the obvious.

Harry stepped out fully, “Where are the others?” he asked, looking up at the pair (finally get a growth spurt but it hardly made a damn difference).

“In with Commander Decimus,” the other guard informed him, frowning behind his veil. “You should be in bed.”

He shook his head, “Where is his office?” he asked, adjusting his dressing gown against the staring, and the chill.

The first guard sighed, “I'll take you.”

“No!” Harry yelped, “Stay with Kimya – with Lady Auburnbrie, it was _her_ the Imperials were after in those caves,” he rushed quickly, with a worried glance at the door. “I'll be fine. Just – gimme some directions. I can find my way, I don't want to trouble anyone,” he explained, intending to do absolutely no such thing. Not that he was actually telling them he was going there. In essence, he had not lied at all (save by omission – and misdirection). He hadn't anticipated there being guards on their door, but given Commander Asshole he wasn't surprised, what he was surprised about was the fact that none of them had attempted to shank him for showing his face. Either way, there was a higher chance of them letting him go unescorted if they thought he was going to join with the Retinue.

The two Royal Guards exchanged looks before the first one twitched a shoulder in a helpless shrug. The second one sighed and pointed, “Follow this corridor down. Take the third left. Second right. Keep walking until you pass the Mess Hall. Take the first left past the window and go right to the bottom of the corridor. His door with the one with his name on it to the right. You _sure_ you don't want one of us to walk you?” he asked sceptically, eyeing the way he was holding the wall.

He nodded, “I don't need a babysitter, thanks for the offer though,” he said with a wrinkled nose, promting a snort from the first guard. He quickly escaped them and followed their directions as far as the first turn where he was completely out of sight. Then he began the arduous task of trying to orientate himself in order to find an exit. Thankfully he didn't need to double back or risk rediscovery by the two guard that had been outside the med-bay. He _did_ have to duck down and hide in a cleaning cupboard to avoid a second group of Royal Guard as they went past though.

It was informative at least.

The Tempering Grounds were in Taelpar Crag, barely a stone's throw away. An Imperial Airship crashed not too far away and tore a hole open into the daemon filled caverns. Every single team that Decimus sent down to investigate the newly exposed security risk had vanished. Not a single survivor had returned, and no one was able to get in to follow them, a weird set of unbreakable doors stopped them. Not even the Imperials that tried to flee inside had come back out, though the doors had unlocked eventually. Probably when they died.

Harry waited until they cleared off, which took a while because they stood, right there, chatting, until someone realised they had a shift to get to and they all dispersed. He quickly picked up the pace, worry churning in his gut, like something with teeth made of ice as he staggered blindly out into the early afternoon sunlight. Somehow he managed to avoid notice as he ducked and crawled beneath the barriers out of the base, the single lonely gate-guard busy trying to retie his sling with one hand and his teeth not spotting a thing. Not even Harry in his pale blue dressing gown and grey slippers.

Unfortunately it started raining not long after he left as he hiked towards Taelpar Crag, looking for the tell-tale signs of a fallen Imperial ship, fighting, or a well walked path.

He found it eventually, complete with broken hole in the ground that dropped down into a pitch black tunnel.

He shivered in his slightly damp dressing gown and quickly made for it, sitting down at the edge of the hole and trying to carefully lower himself in because he knew he would land hard and probably fall on his face if he just jumped in. Unfortunately he was still too weak to support himself – he fell in regardless, landing on his ass with a yelp. Thankfully it wasn't far to fall as the ceiling debris had all piled up quite nicely forming a ramp that he was able to manoeuvre his way down to get into the tunnel proper. All he got were some bruises, he was still young enough to bounce, or so Sirius laughed once while being told about his Quidditch exploits. Didn't stop it from hurting though he decided as he rubbed his ass.

The tunnel was dark, yes, but it was empty. No daemons.

The reason why became obvious as he carefully picked his way down the dark corridor and saw a light in the distance, the familiar warm sense of comfort that came from a haven thrumming through the floor and walls.

The tunnel opened, revealing a chamber etched with familiar runes and glass-blue crystal unique to havens, one wall cracked and fanged revealing the far wall of Taelpar Crag and the open sky outside. The whole room was lined with skulls, bones, broken rusting weapons, and crumbled on his knees, his back to a huge stone door –

“Cor!” he called in relief, stumbling in his wet slippers as he rushed across the chamber.

He was bleeding, holding his right wrist carefully, his right shoulder misshapen within its jacket, dried blood decorating his face, his nose was broken, his breathing was shallow, and he didn't even _twitch_ at Harry's voice. He was cold to the touch when the Gryffindor stumbled to his knees in front of him, shock more than likely. His wrist was definitely broken, and it looked like his shoulder was dislocated. Never mind all the stab wounds or whatever it was that smashed him in the face. He was alive, he was _alive_ , and that was what mattered.

“You're alright,” he muttered, “You're alright, you're alive. You're alive and you'll be fine. Hold still, this'll itch like a bitch, I'm not very good at healing,” he explained, babbled really, as he gently held a hand over his nose and fixed it up, along with his cracked eye-socket and loose teeth. He had been hit in the face, _hard_ , with a sword hilt judging by the damage. He had a concussion from it. It _had_ to have knocked him unconscious. But... if it had... how did he get here? Unless whatever survival instinct he had got him as far as the safe haven and he just crumpled.

Blue eyes blinked slowly, but his pupils barely reacted to the light, which only made him worry all the more as he gently pried the teenager's hand from his wrist, keeping a steady stream of babble as he worked.

“Back home, we'd have to be married before I'd be legally allowed to show you this. But if you don't say anything, I don't. It'll have to be our secret,” he explained as he carefully realigned his bones and knitted them together, feeling the teenager's fingers flex against his wrist. “Though the legalities of them trying to _do_ anything to you would be such a nightmare given Regis and the Royal Guard and the whole general _everything_ about the Lucis Caelums and your upper military echelons. I'd pay to see Fudge and Umbridge butt heads with Weskham and Regis when they're on a mission. Prime time evening entertainment. This'll hurt, we need to pop your shoulder back in,” he warned gently even as he shifted a bit closer, practically into his lap as he carefully ducked under Cor's arm, positioning it over his back, one hand holding his elbow, the other pressing against his stomach to hold them both steady and in alignment.

“Your arm _wants_ to be in its socket, so if I lift this up just like so, your muscles will just pull it right back in where it should be,” he explained soothingly, feeling the twitch and clench of his abdominals under his hand. “Ready? Three, two, one, and _lift_ – ”

The strangled gasp and subtle shift of the teenager's body, how he physically _felt_ the pull over his shoulder and the short jerk of everything going back where it should have been. It was very different being on the outside of that.

“There we go, there we go. Almost done,” he soothed, shifting and pressing hands against his shoulder to heal the bruising, the tissue damage, and the slight crack to his socket.

“H-Harry?” Cor rasped, looking at him for the first time since he arrived.

He nodded, smiling before leaning up at hugging him as carefully as he could in their current position. “Yeah. I'm here. I came.” Cor's pupils were reacting now, he was _looking_ at Harry, and the shakes were really beginning to settle in. Harry tightened his grip, “I've got you. You're alright. I've got you,” he muttered, rubbing the sixteen year old's back soothingly, feeling his breathing beginning to hitch even as he dropped his face down into the side of the Gryffindor's neck. Hands came up to grasp at his back, sliding under his wet dressing down to palm his spine and ribs as if he weren't sure that Harry were a real _physical_ thing, before they dug in, tangling into his pyjama shirt, leaving bruises on his skin with how tightly he clung.

“I – I _failed_ ,” he croaked wetly into the side of his neck, body shuddering as he began to sob.

“You're alive,” Harry told him firmly, feeling his stomach twist and clench at the thought of showing up and finding – he tightened his grip on him and kissed the side of his head, stroking his hair. “You're alive. Everything else is secondary, Cor. I told you: you weren't allowed to die. You didn't. That's all that matters.”

He coughed and sniffled and seemed to lose all of his strength, all of his energy, and just leaned into him. Crying horrible, ugly, gritty, heaving sobs into the side of his neck, clinging to him like he was the only anchor he had in a storm.

Harry ignored his aching knees, the stone digging into his flesh, and held him. Glaring over his head at the door as he drew him in tightly. What the fuck had happened in there to reduce the Staff Sergeant to _this_? What was _in_ there that he needed to brutalise? What was still _watching_ him? He had felt eyes ever since he walked in but there were more important things to focus on but if anything was fixing to jump out now – it was very _quickly_ going to regret it.

He didn't know how long he held the soldier for. Until his tears ran dry at the very least. Even though Harry pressing healing back into his chest to heal the cracked ribs making his breathing so painful, even though the cuts and lacerations on his back and stomach to be healed. He would have thought the teenager had fallen asleep if not for the death grip on his clothes, he went so quiet, his face pressed blindly into Harry's neck, his whole body sagging into him like a pillow without any stuffing. Harry kissed the side of his head again, continuing to rub his back until he felt like moving again. They were on a haven. Nothing could attack them, they were fine. They were safe. _They had time_. Time enough for him to fall apart, and for Harry to help put him back together. No rush. Even if he couldn't – really – stay in this position anymore, leaning forward like this. He didn't have the physical strength for it.

He pulled back, cupping the sixteen year old's face and carefully wiping his face dry.

Cor didn't move, or look up, eyes firmly downturned to his knees, his hands still knotted tightly in Harry's nightshirt as he worked. And when he was done, he dropped his head down again to press against the Gryffindor's chest, and shuddered.

He hummed, wrapping his arms around Cor's head, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the door. Waiting patiently for the taller teenager to talk, to tell him what happened, to say _anything_ , whatever. But he didn't seem inclined to do anything at all. Just cling to him.

So Harry spoke first.

“I'm glad you're alright. I'm sorry if I scared you before,” he said softly, feeling Cor's breathing hitch and his hands tighten on his ribs.

“You stopped breathing,” he rasped. “You flatlined. _Twice_.” Harry winced. He – hadn't known that. Cor's grip changed, his fingers smoothing out, grasping his ribs, smoothing over his body. “Some screaming black _thing_ nearly killed one of the medics. You were daemon cursed and _none of us realised_ ,” he cursed roughly, his voice breaking.

Harry stroked his hair, “I'm alive. I'm _alive_. I'm okay. And so are you.”

He shook his head. “No. I'm not. I _failed_. I failed the Trial.” His whole body began to shudder and herk again. “I should be dead. I _should_ be dead.”

“If you died, I'd raise you just to kick your ass personally,” Harry promised. “You're not allowed to die. I told you that.”

“Would it matter?” he asked so quietly he almost didn't hear him. “Would anyone _really_ care if – ”

Harry shoved him. It didn't take much. There was no strength to him as the wizard shoved him down onto his back, leaning over and slapping a hand down to the ground next to his head, _making_ him look at him.

“Don't you _dare_ day anything that stupid to me again, Staff Sergeant Cor Leonis!” he snarled, looming over him as red-rimmed swollen blue eyes stared up. “Don't you dare! Not when there are people waiting for you back at that base, who are forcing themselves to hope against all the odds, even now, days later! Don't you _dare_ think that what you had with them meant nothing, Cor! They _love_ you. _Don't look away from me!_ ” he snapped, grabbing the sixteen year old's chin and turning his head back to his. “So you failed the Trials. So fucking what?” he demanded.

Cor's face twisted in pain and anger, “So – I _failed!_ I'm not worthy! I'm nothing!”

“You failed one test! Who the fuck cares what some fucking _cave_ had to say about – ”

“He's the first Shield!” Cor shouted in his face, leaning up and glaring at him with life for the first time in a long time. “He's the _first!_ ”

Harry sneered, “And what the fuck do I care about the opinion of some undead fossil that should have just stayed fucking buried?” he demanded coldly, making Cor blink, his mouth opening in confusion a split second before Harry decided fuck it, and swooped down, mashing their lips together. He was clumsy, his inexperience leading to clashing teeth and bruised lips, but he was a quick learner and once he got over his surprise Cor was an eager teacher.

It wasn't like either of their previous kisses, not as soft as the one in the tent, or as charged as the one in Lestallum. But oh-so-easy to get lost in all the same. All too easy to nearly forget what they were arguing about in the first place.

Harry pulled away, pressing their foreheads together. “We're sixteen, Cor,” he murmured, fingers gently curling in his hair, stroking his cheek. “We're kids. No matter what we've done, how far we've come, we're sixteen, we're still kids. We're still growing. No one peaks at sixteen. You haven't even got functional facial hair yet. So what if you failed this stupid Trial today? That doesn't mean you can't pass it later. It's called the _Tempering Grounds_ for a reason. It's where things come to be improved, not destroyed, to get stronger, not be _judged_.”

Something must have gotten through to him, clicked over in his head, because all the tension just bled out of him and his eyes slid shut, not in defeat, but just.... exhaustion.

“How the hell does anyone win an argument with you?” he muttered quietly, flopping back and staring at the ceiling.

Harry snorted as he sat up properly and turned to sit next to him, “You should try arguing with Hermione. If you think I'm bad, she's so much worse,” he said with a fond smile as he tipped his head up to stare at the ceiling as well. Someone had carved words onto the ceiling.

They sat in quiet, companionable silence for a while, enough so that Harry very nearly fell asleep again, only twitching back into wakefulness when he felt Cor touch him, sliding an arm around his waist and tugging him down to lie back against him. He laughed a little helplessly, pushing himself back upright.

“No, don't. Or I really will fall asleep.”

Cor sat up behind him, looking concerned, “Do you need to go back to medical?” he asked worriedly. And Harry tried not to wince. He hated the Hogwarts Hospital Wing and at least there he had Hermione and Ron willing and able to take books out, or bring a chess set down, or even exploding snap. God only knew what would await him in a _military_ hospital.

“........Probably,” he confirmed with great and visible reluctance.

Cor was immediately on his feet and pulling him up with him, too quickly actually, Harry wasn't prepared and his legs almost gave out under him. That – was embarrassing. He inhaled sharply, grabbing at Cor's arms as they went out from under him, and quickly found himself being physically picked up.

“I'm fine! I'm fine!” he yelped, wriggling. “Just – give me a few, I'm fine, honest!” he promised and slowly helt himself being lowered to his feet again, slowly enough that he was able to get his balance and muster himself enough to stay up. “I'm fine. You can let go now, I don't fall,” he promised, patting the Insomnian's arm.

“You sure?” he asked sceptically.

Harry quirked an exasperated smirk, “Might need some help getting out of the hole in the _roof_ but, yeah, I'm fine. I can walk. Promise.”

He felt a kiss on his forehead, and then another on his cheek, then on his lips.

It was so easy to forget why they shouldn't be doing this when Cor kissed him like that, when his hand buried itself in Harry's hair and turned his head just so, and the hand at his back pulled him in close. When all he could do was hold on and drown.

And all too easy to remember when they separated and Cor took his hand, leading the way out of the cavern.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, frowning at the sensation of being watched even as they were swallowed by stone and darkness, passing out of sight heading towards the surface. A surface that was thankfully no longer pouring with rain, but was still incredibly wet and muddy. Yeah. There was no way Harry could climb out of there in his current state without slipping and falling straight back inside. Cor gave him a leg-up and out before hoisting himself out beside him.

In the stark light of day, both of them looked pretty terrible. Harry was half drowned from his hike over, and probably not looking too healthy given how he'd just woken up from a coma after a chemical attack. Cor had blood crusting his face, his eyes were red, swollen, and tear scalded, his clothes were torn, filthy, and bloody from whatever happened in the Trials, and he was probably bruised to all hell under them too.

Cor eyed him with poorly concealed worry, “How the hell the medics cleared you to leave – ” Something on Harry's face must have given him away because a split second the soldier's face went flat. “They didn't clear you,” he realised.

“You have _no_ room to throw stones, Mister Death trials,” Harry retorted as they began the long walk back to the base.

“ _I_ haven't been in a _coma_ for a week!” he exclaimed, yanking his shredded jacket off and practically throwing it on top of him. “I didn't _flatline_ twice! You should have stayed in the medical bay!”

Harry scoffed and caught his arm, pressing healing back into the blood encrusted wounds and livid bruising now revealed. “ _You_ shouldn't have decided that some death cave would be the perfect chance to prove you were an idiot,” he retorted with a roll of his eyes as he smoothed his hands across unblemished skin to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

“Did you even _tell_ Regis where you were going?” Cor demanded in exasperation as he pulled an umbrella out of the armiger to shelter them.

“Do I look stupid?” Harry asked rhetorically. “He'd have never let me out of the damn bed if he knew I was even awake!”

The look of abject frustration, awe, and disbelief on his face was interesting. Not as interesting as the expression that crossed it when he looked over Harry's shoulder and froze, spotting the _Regalia_ as it screeched to a stop at the side of the road and the entire Retinue burst out of it.

“COR!!”

Harry took three large steps back out into the rain and Regis ploughed into his bodyguard, throwing the both of them into the mud, sending Cor's umbrella flying to be stolen by the wind and vanish somewhere over the horizon as the Prince did his level best to squeeze the life out of the sixteen year old. Both in relief and anger judging by the sound of it and the way Cor's legs were comically kicking from under the man. Harry snickered a little watching the whole display as the rest of the Retinue joined in, relief and excitement evident as they clustered and fussed over their youngest member.

He caught the teenager's eye inbetween their arms and found himself smugly mouthing ' _told you so_ '. The idiot boy was loved by them. Maybe now he'd stop doubting it and accept the fact that there was never going to be any escaping them, no matter _what_ was written down on paper. He shook his head in amusement and left them to go and wait beside the Regalia.

It was a mark of their worry for the soldier that it took a while before they remembered and thought to ask where he'd gone, and have Cor point them back to the car where he sat leaning against the door, watching them with an indulgent smile as he waited.

Weskham was immediately fussing over how he'd left without saying anything, the Royal Guards were facing disciplinary action for allowing him to slip away without escort – Harry was horrified and then furious about it. He was had been on the base, he didn't need a damn babysitter, they thought he was going straight to them, they didn't deserve to face a disciplinary because of his actions! They should have left him unattended, no matter what he had to say. Maybe next time he would think twice about running off on his own knowing it would get other people in trouble. But that isn't fair! They didn't do their jobs. It is perfectly fair. What if the initial sweeper teams missed an Imperial Soldier? In his current state he wouldn't have been able to fight them off. He could have been abducted. What about fiends on his way to the Tempering Grounds? He wouldn't have been able to run away from them, or fight them. What if there had been daemons waiting for you in the cave first thing? You don't know. You could have gotten hurt and that is why they are being punished. Because they allowed it to happen. Allowed nothing! I don't answer to them, or you, Regis!

“You do now,” the Prince stated calmly, staring straight ahead with folded arms as they pulled into the base. “While the Lady Auburnbrie is in convalescence, you fall under my care. Ergo, in reflection of these events, you are henceforth restricted to the Medical Wing until I say otherwise.”

Harry gaped.

“Yer grounded, in otherwords,” Cid chimed in helpfully from the front seat.

“You're not my Head of House! You can't make decisions like that!” he protested furiously.

Regis gave him a stern look, hand on the door release. “I am the closest adult family member you have right now. Yes. I can,” he declared firmly. “And until you demonstrate the critical thinking skills necessary – ”

“We aren't related!” Harry spluttered, rearing back in confusion.

“ – to take care of your own wellbeing I will continue to do so. _Both of you_ ,” he added, speaking over Harry's exclamation with a pointed frown at Cor who immediately looked down, and didn't even attempt to argue. Basically rolling over and showing his belly immediately.

Harry shook his head, “Uh, _no_. You can say it until you're blue in the damn face, that doesn't mean shit for dick!”

“You are going to that medical bay, and you are _staying_ there until the doctors discharge you with a clean bill of health, Harry,” Regis commanded, not quite thundering, never even raising his voice, but there was no denying -

“End of discussion.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without Kimya there to be the parent, Regis is having the very uncomfortable realisation he now has to be the parent. Harry is NOT making these decisions easy for him. Meet teenage rebellion Regis, only this time you're not allowed to issue Royal Orders to keep him contained - he wouldn't listen anyway. 
> 
> The Retinue put their adult feet down in a desperate bid to try and PROTECT THE SUICIDALLY RECKLESS SEEMING BAD-LUCK CHARM. God. Two days unconscious in a daemon infested cave, two day coma in their car, shoots down airships, goes into a cave that gets fucking gas-grenaded, falls into a coma, vomits SO MUCH BLOOD, flatlines twice, has some fucking daemon fly out of him, and then vanishes from his fucking bed only to show up soaking wet in PJs with a guy that walked into a death trap.
> 
> If you thought holding the Wall up was why Regis had grey hair, no, you're wrong. It's Harry's fault. Harry and Cor's. Theirs entirely. Regis was grey at 21 because of these two. RIP in pieces.


	33. Chapter 33

It was not, in fact, the end of the discussion, but it was the last that Regis had to say on the matter as everyone got out of the car and both Harry and Cor were frog-marched to the medical wing by Weskham and Clarus while Cid and Regis went to speak with Commander Decimus. Harry was pretty much running on anger, stubbornness, and sheer spite by this point, his knees felt like they were going to buckle at any second and he could just _tell_ the Shield and the Retainer were waiting for him to crumple – well he wasn't going to give them the damn satisfaction!

He was not going to admit, even in the recesses of his own mine, that they were probably right and he should _not_ have left the medical bay.

He was _fine_. Just tired, that was all.

It wasn't like he had been held under cruciatus repeatedly, or been forced to take part in a dark magic ritual, or been poisoned by a Basilisk, or had all of the bones in one of his limbs removed, or fallen over fifty feet in the middle of a storm while nearly having his soul ripped out by Dementors. _He was fine_.

Cor followed in docile silence, his head bowed, not even attempting to stand up for himself.

The medics were hovering, and they were not happy with him by the time Weskham managed to get him into the room. The Royal Guards outside were different people, and eyed him with cool curiosity as he shuffled after the Retainer – they made a point of coming in and then standing in front of the door once everyone was inside, which was when Harry froze, embarrassingly like a deer in the headlights, at the sight of all the medics turning as one to look at him. Madam Pomfrey often had a very similar look on her face before she pounced on him and – Weskham dropped a hand on his shoulder before he could step back as the medics _descended_.

“By Royal Decree, neither of them are to leave the room unless escorted by a member of his Royal Highness' Retinue,” he could hear Clarus instructing the Royal Guard as he was swarmed, hands going fucking everywhere, voices speaking jargon he hadn't a hope in hell of understanding. “You'll need to keep an eye on the little one especially, he's sneaky.”

“Fuck you, Clarus!” he snapped even as he stumbled with all of the people grabbing at him, “Where the hell are you putting those hand- let go!”

These medics were very different creatures to Madam Pomfrey and the Mediwitches and Wizards of St Mungos, used to dealing with disagreeable soldiers and Guards who didn't think they even needed to be in there, they had no problem getting physical with him. Trying to fight them off was useless unless he brought magic into the equation, and he didn't want to actually _hurt_ anyone, though the more they touched him the more likely it was to happen as he was unceremoniously bitched out, stripped, and stuffed into a fresh set of night clothes, these ones fleece lined to be extra warm as they chattered irritably about hypothermia, how his body temperature was too low, been out in the rain and the cold exerting himself, he was too skinny, underweight and lacking energy right now resulting in a poor immune system, likely to get sick after this escapade, blah, blah, blah. Like he wasn't a Brit who spent 70% of his life in Scotland and thus was immune to the cold and the rain by sheer virtue of rarely existing OUTSIDE of it. He was getting to the point where he was going to _bite_ the next hand that got too close, his skin utterly crawling with the way the medics grabbed and pawed over him like a mildly disliked poseable doll.

Thankfully Clarus and Weskham must have seen the breaking point of his patience because they were quick to turn the medics away from poking and prodding him further, directing them to tend to Cor who had been quietly sitting on his bed while they _completely_ fucking ignored him.

He hissed at their retreating backs, utterly exhausted and furious about it as he huddled in his bedding.

Weskham pushed a cup of something warm into his hands with a stern command to behave himself even as he held the cup until he was sure Harry could actually lift it up safely. He eyed the man, sorely tempted to throw it at him but not wanting to waste a perfectly good cup of tea. It was the same kind that Mid had at Keycatrich, he could tell by the smell. But more than that, it was warm and the part of him that grew up sneaking cups of tea as his only source of sustenance in a day rebelled violently at the thought of wasting it when he felt so terrible. It was probably painfully stereotypical of him as a Brit – feeling bad? Cup of tea. Hungry and no food? Cup of tea. Bad flying accident? Cup of tea. Screaming match with Umbridge and sent to Professor McGonagall? Cup of tea.

He grumbled but kept the cup, settling down reluctantly as he curled around it, keeping a gimlet eye on the medics treating Cor as he sipped it. The Insomnian listed his injuries quietly for the medics as they stripped him of his shredded filthy clothing to get a better look at his wounds, not that there were all that many of them – it was actually obvious where they _had_ been because Harry had healed them, making their absence the only clear patches of skin amidst the vast swathes of bruising across the sixteen year old's body. The medics went over them anyway, muttering quietly like a weird flock of irritable pigeons before announcing that they had healed nicely, _thank you very much_ , he knew what he was doing even if Healing wasn't his forte. He wasn't about to do something to someone without knowing whether or not he'd make it worse, he wasn't an _asshole_. They tended the other injuries that Cor hadn't mentioned to him down in the cave, revealing that they were specifically on attachment to the Royal Guard when they used healing magic to do so. It always struck him as a little odd that Regis didn't know healing magic when everyone else did, but he figured that it was just some weird kind of gender thing amongst Lucian Royalty. Since the Oracle Queens were famous healers, perhaps the Lucian Kings didn't want to step on their toes? Or they considered healing to be womens' work? Insomnia did seem to have some weird ideas when it game to gender compared to the rest of Lucis.

He didn't realise he had fallen asleep until he became aware of the cup in his hands being taken away. Even then he didn't have the strength to open his eyes as he felt Weskham, and it was definitely him by the smell of spices and cologne, carefully began to manoeuvre him beneath the sheets, murmuring quietly about how he was surprised that he'd held out for so long.

“Kid's stubborn as all hell,” the Shield pointed out gruffly, his voice a quiet rumble so as not to disturb him. “But then again, we already knew that.”

Weskham hummed in agreement, and then started digging his hands in around and under Harry, folding the blankets beneath him. It was incredibly unpleasant and he couldn't help but try to squirm away. There was a quiet snort of amusement.

“Doesn't even like fuss while he's asleep. What a punk,” Clarus commented.

“He's probably never been tucked in,” Cor's voice interrupted with quiet solemnity. “I don't think he knows what you're doing.”

Weskham's hands stilled on him and Harry curled up into a tight ball, tucking his hands and feet up out of reach as the atmosphere got awkward all of a sudden.

“Had he told you anything?” the Retainer asked, sounding far away. “About his family?”

“....They weren't kind. You'll need to ask him for anything more.”

“Cor – ” Clarus rumbled.

“They aren't my secrets to tell.”

 

* * *

 

Clementine....

Clementine didn't make it.

When he woke up after that first night, Clarus had been there waiting for him. Apologetic, with a small black box. None of them had known if his culture had any specific funerary rites, they couldn't recall it coming up in conversation at any time, so they decided to... leave the decision of what to do with his pet's remains up to him when he woke. Just – don't open the box. It _had_ been over a week since they found her in Kimya's pocket.

He honestly didn't remember much of that day. Clem dying on top of _everything_ else had been.... a blow.

She shouldn't have even been there. He should have never taken her away from the Vesperpool.

He had been just as arrogant as Snape always accused him of, worse still, he had done it specifically to get one over on Cor. And in return, he had gotten a bright, beautiful, intelligent serpent killed for his selfishness.

He had taken the box and just held it for a time. Stunned and silent. Like every white family on Privet Drive, the Dursleys had been 'Christians'. In name at least. Church of England. Both he and Dudley had been dragged to Sunday School while Vernon and Petunia went to service, mouthed along to the hymns, and then drank tea, ate biscuits, and pretended to be nice _normal_ people, chatting to the elderly and the other parents and neighbours. Right up until Dudley was asked politely but firmly to never return for his aggressive bullying behaviour towards the other children, behaviour they had raised with the Dursleys' before, but was clearly not being addressed. Vernon and Petunia had sniffily turned their noses up at the Church and congregation ever since, no matter what wagging tongues had to say, though they did eventually manage to turn it around and make themselves the sympathetic figures in the story – how though he couldn't remember.

Wizards didn't have anything specific that he knew of, if anything, they copied the Christian burial methods, which always struck him as a little odd given how Necromancy was actually a thing, on top of using the deceased's remains in certain foul rituals.

Steyliff Grove detailed that the people of Solheim would inter their dead in water, specifically the ocean if possible, though the Vesperpool itself was popular with nobility and the clergy (who knew how much in the way of human remains was resting in the silt at the bottom of the lake). Sent off to the Tidemother. In the cold and the dark.

All the things that Clem hated.

He had a vague memory of holding the box back out once he realised this and telling Clarus to burn her. The toxins from the gas that killed her might do damage to the earth or the water if he followed the practices that he knew of. This was cleaner.

He then had to endure an afternoon being lectured by Weskham who was either punishing him for his foray outside, or trying to take his mind off things, by talking about funeral rites, marriage rites, engagement traditions, graduations, coming of ages, naming ceremonies, and birthing traditions in Insomnia, Lucis, and even Tenebrae. Harry didn't listen to him for even a single lick. He used his patented and perfected skill of hearing just enough to answer accurately, but then promptly forgetting the information entirely. Divination had been good for one thing at the very least.

But as the days marched on, it started wearing thin. Getting to the point where he could honestly say that being stuck in his cupboard would have been fucking preferable. At least in there he was left _alone!_

Being in the medical bay was not only mind-bendingly dull, but there was no privacy. At all. _Ever_. A medic came by to bother him any time he so much as twitched in a meaningful kind of way, they bothered him when he was sleeping, checking his temperature, breathing, blood pressure, waking him up as they did so. They did it when he was awake. They checked to make sure he had eaten everything on his tray and would sit and _watch_ him until he did. One would _hover_ outside the shitter whenever he went to the _bathroom_ – which, incidentally, he was not allowed to close or lock. It could be pulled to, left ajar for privacy purposes, but not closed. If he tried, they just pushed it back open fully. And on top of the _smothering_ from the medics, Weskham seemed to take it upon himself to really hammer home a punishment. He would have a new book or homework assignment to try and force on him almost every damn day. Lecturing him on everything the man thought would bore him to tears: Georgaphy, economics, Lucian history, traditions, _table manners_ \- if he was told to sit up straight one more time he was going to throw himself out of the window.

If it hadn't been for both Cor and Kimya being stuck in there with him, he might have done so anyway long before now.

Kimya was still comatose and at first he wasn't too worried, but as the days went on, and she didn't wake or improve, he started getting concerned. She _should_ be getting better, right? The gas had been bad but she had only been in it a bit longer than him and the medics had been giving her repeated magical treatments to heal the damage to her lungs and sinuses. She _should_ be on the mend. Hell, with the amount of magic they'd poured into her by this point she should be in _better_ condition than Harry himself was. He decided that she must be in a state like he was when he first woke up, aware but unable to move or do anything. So he started reading to her whenever Weskham wasn't there, and made a point of coaching her through how to regain control of her limbs the way that he did when he first woke, gently wiggling her toes or squeezing her hand to encourage her.

On top of Kimya's continued unconsciousness, he also had another worry in the form of Cor going quiet and listless. He stopped talking entirely once he had finished giving his debrief of what occurred in the Tempering Grounds to Regis and hadn't said a word since. He just.... sat there. Staring at his hands. Lost somewhere in his head and nothing Harry could say would pull him back out of it. If it weren't for the medics and the Royal Guard that were practically plastered to the walls and doors, he might have attempted either hitting or kissing him by now, just to get him to fucking _move_ , _do something_ , not just sit there like a statue or a dead fish.

Clarus told him to leave it be when he brought it up, quietly confiding that until Harry dropped him on his ass when they first met, Cor had never actually been beaten in a fight. And until the Tempering Grounds, he had never been in an actual, legitimate, life-threatening situation. Even for all his years in the army, not once had anything actually threatened him quite like the 'Blade Master' did. He just needed some time to sort himself out. He was having to do a lot of re-evaluation and self-reflection.

By the fifth day, Harry was climbing the damn walls.

Yeah, so he tired easily. Far too easily in his aggravated opinion, but how was he supposed to regain his strength when the medics wouldn't let him even try? Wouldn't let him push the envelope even a _little_ bit! Telling them that he had never been forced to sit on his ass and do nothing like this before just got him more tests and prodding and observation and stricter restrictions and _jesus_ he was going to go insane. He did not _need_ to rest any more!! He was awake, he could walk, that meant he could get _on_ with shit!

Having Cid pointing out that he still coughed up blood by the cupful if his chest was irritated at all was completely uncalled for. It wasn't like Harry planned to go on any hunts or even leave the _base_. Kimya was still there afterall. He was just going _stir-fucking-crazy_ in this fucking room. He also wasn't allowed to blow his nose either, for much the same reason. Only this time the blood would be pouring from his nostrils instead of his lungs. Fuck whoever invented that gas. He was going to swap their testicles for rapid jarveys.

His twitchiness eventually got so bad that Clarus summoned the Iron Assault from the Armiger and told him that if he was _that_ bored he could clean his weapons – he then summoned _all_ of them to occupy the foot of his bed. The look on the Royal Guards' faces when they saw the small armoury that poured out next to him would have been comical if Harry hadn't been too focused on the damage to the Assault. He hadn't cleaned it in over a week since he fired that last Wyvernfire shot, there was burnt on scuzz from the energy charge that needed _scraping_ off.

It was a nice afternoon, thoroughly distracting, as he cleaned and sharpened all of it, checking the springs and mechanisms of his guns, cleaning them thoroughly and properly before moving onto his swords and knives. Clarus shook his head at some point and complained about how he had far too many weapons for such a little guy, it was amazing that he could actually carry that many actually.

Harry scoffed and pointed out that when he had landed in the Vesperpool he lost his glasses, the one weapon he did own, and was left without sight, training, weapons, armour, or a clue of where he was when he dragged himself out of that lake. Fuck, he hadn't even seen a daemon and thought they were literally a myth. Something people used to scare naughty children, not actual monstrosities that prowled around at night.

“Wait,” Clarus blurted, making him look up. “You – you were _never_ in the military? Never – you _never_ got any kind of combat training?” he demanded in dismay.

Harry wrinkled his nose, “I thought we went over this in Lestallum? I was in _school_ before ending up here.” Surely Cid and Cor had brought this up, right? Regis certainly seemed to suggest as much when he outright stated back in Balouve that both Kimya and Cor had argued against his being taken anywhere near any of the active warzones.

“But – no one taught you _specifically?_ It wasn't a – a military school or anything?” the Shield clarified almost desperately.

Harry shook his head, horrified by the very thought of _Hogwarts_ being a military school. “No! We – we learned _astronomy_ , care of creatures, ancient runes, history! There's – there's a Defence _class_ but it's honestly a joke. The job's cursed, we've never had a teacher that lasted the whole year. It's gotten so bad _I've_ been teaching my classmates this year,” he explained with a disgusted grimace.

“Defence yeah? That's – something I mean – ” Clarus babbled desperately and Harry shook his head.

“Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong. We're taught _defence_. The only time I'd ever even held a sword before I landed in the Vesper was when I was twelve and stole a school artefact to save my bestfriend's kid-sister from a giant snake. Guns are illegal. Most of what we're taught is how to identify threats and then _escape_ them,” he explained flatly. Almost all of the offensive spells he knew were ones that he and Hermione went out of their way to find _themselves_ for the Triwizard Tournament.

Clarus sat down heavily, looking distressed. “I – I thought you were a Niflheim Spy,” he admitted faintly, making the Gryffindor look up at him incredulously. He shrugged a little helplessly at the look on his face. “You came outta nowhere with an incredibly useful almost tailor made skillset that fit us perfectly. Tenebrae accent. You got yourself thrown out of Meldacio just in time to move on to Lestallum with us, caught on to that Imperial attack before anyone else, made a _flawless_ escape plan for everyone, used us to gain access to restricted locations, made yourself just sympathetic enough with hints of a tragic past that no one felt comfortable calling you out on your past, and then the whole thing at Balouve where you refused to attack any of the Imperial soldiers. What was I supposed to think?” he asked miserably before dragging a hand through his hair with a huff of pained laughter. “Course. It all makes sense when you stop to consider the fact you're related to Regis and hiding it.”

Harry jerked in surprised, slicing through his hand, “We're not relat- _ow!_ ”

And of course that just resulted in the medics descending, fixing his hand up, and then removing all of his weapons to the otherside of the room with a stern declaration that he was still too weak to be handling sharp objects, and Clarus should know better than to agitate someone in recovery! The medics then proceeded to chase him off out of the room, leaving Harry to deal with their excessive hovering one again. Questions about whether he felt cold, was he dizzy, any numbness of aching in his arm of hand, was he light headed, on and on and on and fucking _on_. He was going to fucking smother himself if they didn't fuck off. Honest to fucking god.

He growled and threw himself backwards in the bed, dragging the pillow over his head and then proceeded to pointedly _ignore them_ until they kindly fucked off back into the office.

He didn't _care_ that he was acting like a selfish brat. He just wanted to be left alone and _left out of this fucking room_.

There was only so long he could spend rattling around doing nothing but listening to Weskham torture him with, literally, the most boring subjects he could conceive to try and force on him. As far as punishments that he had been forced to deal with, he would take writing fucking lines with Umbridge over this. At least the torment was over in an our or two and he got to go back to Ron and Hermione at the end of it. At least he had the DA and – _shit._ He had upset himself again.

He needed out.

........

Cor's sword had been stolen by the Blade Master at the bottom of the Tempering Grounds. The same one his Grandfather gave him. Genji.

Harry had overheard it during his official debriefing while he went over everything that had happened once he left the Retinue to pursue the approval of the Trials, up to and including Harry coming and finding him and talking some fucking sense into him (though he thankfully left out the party where Harry kissed him until he won the argument). Cor had taken the Blade Master's arm, so he broke the young soldier's arm, shoulder, and nose, before stealing his sword and dumping him unconscious at the door of the Trials – a failure, but alive.

His Grandfather's sword. Now wieled by the same crusty undead asshole that destroyed his hopes and dreams and shattered his self worth and confidence.......

Moonlit walks were supposed to be good for recovery. He was fairly sure Luna mentioned it at least once. Yeah.

Time to go for a _Walk_.

 

* * *

 

He waited until nightfall.

Thankfully the Royal Guard did not stay in the medical bay at all hours. When the night-shift came to change hands, they stood outside medical in order to allow those inside the chance to actually sleep properly. Harry gave it an hour after he heard Cor's breathing smooth and even out, keeping time with Kimya's respirator.

Quietly, he got to his feet, putting his slippers on, and shuffled into the bathroom – silently levitating his clothes, leathers, and daggers as he went. He closed and locked the door behind him in silence. No need to disturb anyone. He was in the _bathroom_. He wasn't going _anywhere_ in this tiny windowless tiled room. He _couldn't_. He changed quickly, sliding his knives and daggers into position and immediately feeling much more comfortable and grounded with the familiar weight of them. There was no other way to describe it. He just felt better. Calmer.

Taking a breath to ready himself, he pulled on his magic, affixing the iridescent cave firmly in his mind, how the floor felt, the hum of magic from the haven, and then sliced his magic out.

He stumbled as he reflexively took a step forward and everything went strangely dark but bright to his eyes in the light of the haven and the ghostly glow of Taelpar Crag's crystal arches in the distance out through the crack in the wall. He flinched further as torches and candles lit up around the room, throwing the chamber into sharp golden light on top of the crystalline light. Without Cor to focus on, this place was a hundred times creepier than he remembered it being. Especially with all the skeletal remains littering the place, the rusting weapons, the evidence of thousands of years of death and violence scattered like autumn leaves in the corners of a council estate.

He took another fortifying breath and marched in, squaring his shoulders and holding his head high. He wasn't there to fight the Blade Master. He was there to get Genji back, not take the stupid trials. He had no intention of becoming Regis' Shield. Fuck that. Clarus could keep him. Harry was still pissed.

He headed straight for the door, and pushed it open – or rather, _tried_ to.

The skeletal heads chattered mockingly, making him yank his hand back and reach for a blade.

_Not for little Royals_  
_Not for Princes  
_ _Turn back_

He stared in disbelief at the heads before scowling. “I am not Royalty. Or a Prince. Open up,” he commanded sharply, shoving at the door. It didn't so much as rattle, so the next time he added a bit of magic to it, feeling the whole thing light up and hum, vibrating angrily under his fingers, straining against the power he was pouring into it.

_Not Royal he says, he lies_  
_Commanding as one, he is  
_ _Magic he has, Royal he is_

The voices hissed and _still_ the damn door wouldn't budge. He grunted in anger, kicking it as he took a step back with a huff.

He _could_ destroy it. But Cor had mentioned an _awful_ lot of daemons had made the Tempering Grounds their nest, and he didn't want to go unleashing more of them on the world. Or being in the way of that particular tide as he was right now. He was angry, not stupid. He wasn't strong enough or recovered enough to handle a daemon horde right now.

There was a flash in the corner of his eye.

He whipped around, throwing knife already flying out into the darkness to strike rock and clatter to the floor. He was being watched. Watched by the same thing that had been there when he came for Cor. He side-stepped away from the door, putting his back to the wall as he eyed the deeper shadows of the chamber, ignoring the chattering hissing heads as they murmured approvals of his reflexes and actions, wondering where his Shield was, if his Shield was the Failure-

Harry flicked a second throwing knife at that head, catching it between its clacking teeth, silencing it without looking.

They all fell silent.

And something chuckled in the darkness. A masculine voice echoing throughout the chamber.

“You should not be here, little Prince,” the voice rumbled across the room, the direction of it impossible to tell.4

“I am not a Prince,” he snapped, glaring into each of the shadows big enough to hold a human being. “And I'll be where-ever I damn well please. And I want through that door.”

“Hmph. The Trials are not for you, little Royal.”

“I'm not here to take then,” he growled with narrowed eyes, not bothering to argue the royal comment further. It was clear that whoever this was they wouldn't believe him. He could stand there saying he wasn't a Lucis Caelum until he was blue in the face but it was doubtful that anyone would fucking listen.

“Then why _are_ you here?” the voice asked almost curiously, and Harry caught a glimpse of something faintly violet from a deep shadow in the corner of his eye.

He whirled around and threw a dagger hard enough to make his arm twinge, there was a flicker of darkness, and the dagger sank into the stone – a scrap of cloth caught on the blade.

His fingers itched momentarily, but he didn't want to show just how different his magic was to Regis' just yet, even as laughter filled the chamber. Severely _unsettling_ laughter that sounded both approving and condescending at the same time.

“Vengeance for his honour?” the voice eventually asked once he had finished laughing.

Harry scowled, ignoring how his cheeks felt hot for a split second as he looked around for the asshole he was fairly certain was actually the so called Blade Master, the First Shield, “He can do that himself. You took his Grandfather's sword. I'm taking it back.”

“Ah.”

There was a small flicker and suddenly Harry was jolting, apparating to the otherside of the room as a shadow loomed up behind him, a _huge_ man in gleaming heavy armour and rags, long bone white hair, a metal faceplate, and a missing arm, Genji at his waist under his right hand as if he owned it. But shit. Holy _fuck,_ he was huge. Almost nine to ten feet. Easily. _Hagrid's fucking height._

Harry felt all the hair on his arms stand straight as he realised he was look literally, at a corpse.

This man was dead, but still walking around two thousand years after the fact. Frozen in time but still rotten and dead none the less. Held together more than protected by his armour and the faint wisps of violet magic that lingered between the cracks of his being.

“He has much potential. That boy. It was a magnificent bout,” he praised softly, prowling forward and forcing Harry to retreat a step out of disquiet, not wanting to get close. “Many years ago, I would have taken him for an apprentice, showing that much promise. But that was then.”

He vanished.

“And this is now,” he whispered into the back of Harry's ear.

The Gryffindor jerked around, the light blessed dagger Kimya made for him back in Meldacio slicing upwards into the man's torso as he did so – only to clash against the Genji blade.

Much like when he attempted to block against Cor, Harry found himself overpowered with pathetic ease, but too quickly for him to even _try_ and escape. A simple flick of the huge man's foot and he was flat on his back, and the Blade Master was crouched over him, holding Cor's sword against his throat.

“Kittens. The both of you,” he lamented. “Biting off more than you can chew, ignorant to the size and experience differences between us. You were right when you first came here. This is not a place of destruction, but when a brittle Sword is tempered, it will break.” His laugh was dark and cruel as he loomed over the sixteen year old. “This was never a place for Shields to test their mettle. This is a training ground for Swords, and a _graveyard_ for Shields.”

Harry grimaced, forcing himself to stay calm even as he tried to arch his throat away from the razor edge of the Genji blade. It had tasted his blood more than enough and there was absolutely not the same as when he sparred with Cor back at the haven. “So – so Cor is a Sword? Not a Shield?” he asked tightly, attempting to push against the blade at his neck with his dagger. It didn't even _budge_. And he got what was most definitely some manner of amused look from the giant judging by the slow bird-like headtilt.

“A Shield that leaves his King's side is a useless Shield and should be destroyed. But a Sword is meant to destroy that which ails their King and thus the Kingdom.” He loomed even closer, practically to the point where harry could _smell_ his corpse breath. “But a King who allows a good Sword to shatter and break is not worthy of wielding it. He is lucky to have found a wielder such as you.”

Was.... that jealousy?

The blade was gone, the Blade Master suddenly on the otherside of the room.

Harry sat up, shaken through to the core.

“Go back to your Sword, little Royal,” the Blade Master commanded, facing away from him, looking out across Taelpar Crag through the crack in the wall. “He can come and reclaim his blade when he is ready to conquer the Trials. Properly.”

That – wasn't why he came.

Slowly, he got to his feet, “Why – why do you stay here?” he asked slowly as he headed to his blade in the wall, tugging it out warily, keeping his eyes on the Blade Master the whole time.

He bowed his head for a moment.

“My punishment. For allowing the First Oracle, the Gods' chosen herald, to be cut down. For my loyalty to the Gods. A curse, and a reward in one,” he explained quietly. “For however long my King is in service, I too shall be as well. Until the end of the Darkness.”

Harry frowned.

This was supposedly the First Shield. Meaning that the Lucian Founder King was his King.

“Somnus is alive?” he asked sceptically.

The Blade Master looked over his shoulder, deeming to debate with himself for a moment, “The power of the Ring must come from somewhere. And all those who wear it are in service to the Gods. Our service does not end, even with death.”

Okay, that was fucking terrifying, fuck Bahamut, in the eye.

Holy shit, he dodged a bullet.

“ _Accio_ ,” he commanded after a long pause, wrenching the Genji blade away from the swordsman without warning.

The Blade Master flinched in surprise, hesitating, which gave Harry the split second he needed to grab the blade and Apparate back to the base, and the bathroom.

Where a scowling Cor was sat on the edge of the sink, tapping his foot, waiting for him.

Shit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been wanting to write Clarus' thoughts for a while now XDDDD
> 
> And yes, I'm sorry everyone, but Clem has been planned to die during the attack on Daurell Caverns as far back as Harry and Kimya's first separation from the Retinue after Lestallum. Now. The attack on Daurell Caverns is only ever mentioned in flavour text in FFXV but it does happen, it's why there's all those pools of poisonous fluid and why the walls are a funny colour in many places. Having a military base near-by was the only reason I could think of for the Imperials to make a point of saturating the space with chemical weapons. 
> 
> Harry's in trouble with Cor now on top of everything else. As for what Gilgamesh says regarding the Tempering Grounds, that's totally my interpretation. Not canon.
> 
> Also, for those interested, I have uploaded an original story. Sci-fi based with my favourite trope: Humans are Space Orks that come from a Death World. If that's your jam, go give it a read. Please tell me what you think.


	34. Chapter 34

Harry knew he was screwed the second Cor turned to glare at him and then froze, eyes going wide at the sight of Genji in his arms.

"You - went _back?!_ " he hissed, expression crumpling with anger.

Harry sheathed his dagger and held Genji out to him, opening his mouth to say how much he knew the sword meant to him only to close it again, scowling thoughtfully. Cor wouldn't take it well if Harry said _he_ was the reason he went back to the Tempering Grounds. "...yes I did," he agreed flatly.

Cor's face was doing something very complicated, as if he knew what Harry had almost said, his whole body tensing up as he flexed his hands into fists and out again. It was doing some down right distracting things to his muscles that he was taking great pains to avoid looking at.

"...are you hurt?" he managed to ask eventually, jaw working, obviously furious but trying to maintain his self control.

Harry shook his head, "Fine. The door wouldn't even open for me anyway," he complained bitterly before setting Genji down against the sink since Cor didn't seem all that interested in it right now.

" _Good,_ " the Insomnian snarled, "What were you thinking, going back there? _Were_ you thinking?" he demanded harshly, trying to keep his voice down with only marginal success.

Harry felt heat lick his insides with irritation, "I was thinking that your grandfather's sword meant a lot to you, and I was going to go insane if I sat on my ass doing fuck all in here for another twenty minutes," he ground out through gritted teeth, fighting to keep his voice level and quiet.

"Your lungs are like _tissue paper_ , Harry!" Cor hissed, "Polluted tissue paper at that! You _can't_ exert yourself or you'll end up vomiting more blood than you can risk right now! Do you have any idea how badly you've actually been hurt?!" he demanded, voice raising as he stepped forward and began to loom, succeeding in only putting his back up and making the Gryffindor square up and bristle.

"Why do you think I waited until _now?_ " he demanded caustically, "I know my limits, Cor! A damn sight better than anyone else here!"

The Indomnian grabbed his shoulders and shook him, " _Harry, you. Died!_ Heart stopped, no breath, flatlined. Dead. _Twice_. That gas _killed you_. Your lungs are still healing, your internal organs are still healing, your sinuses and your _brain_ are still healing!"

He slapped the sixteen year old's hands off of him, "I'm fine! Fine except for everyone and their fucking mothers _fussing_ all the goddamn time!" he snarled back and then made a point of bracing his hands against the soldier's chest and pushing him away. Not hard or fast enough to be a shove, but definitely a demand for space. "I'm not going to die if a stiff breeze goes past, but what I _am_ going to do is go completely fucking insane if I'm stuck in this room with people poking and prodding me every - "

Cor grabbed his shoulders again, "Stop - just - just stop, _please,_ " he begged, his voice breaking as he dropped his head, fingers digging into Harry's shoulders. "Harry, you _died_ ," he repeated like a broken record, his voice going hoarse and scratchy and wet in a way that made the Gryffindor's skin crawl with discomfort and his blood run cold. "Stop putting yourself at risk, _please_. I don't - I can't - "

A second later he was being hugged again, Cor's face in the side of his neck, his skin getting wet as the younger teenager's body began to shudder in silence.

"I… I wasn't at risk," he muttered quietly, confused and feeling like an utter asshole as he patted the taller boy's back, before spotting one of the healers peeking through the bathroom door behind them. She eyed him, then Cor, and then discreetly removed herself without comment which just made him feel even _worse_. At least she was at an angle where she couldn't see the fact that he was dressed and had obviously managed to escape the medical bay.

The tears didn't last long, Cor wasn't really one for crying in the first place.

"That gas …." he muttered into the side of his neck, "it's a horrible thing. It dissolves soft tissue. Gets into the blood, absorbs oxygen, starves the brain of oxygen.  Causes hallucinations, disorientation, bleeding of the brain… your lungs have all the strength of wet tissue paper, Harry. The only reason they didn't have to reconstruct them was because they were already filled with pollutants that provided some kind of protective mucus against the worst of the effects. If you catch a _cold_ , you could drown in your own body fluids. If they get irritated by dry air, by pollen, cold, wet, it could destroy what they managed to repair and - " he shuddered again and tightened his grasp on the Gryffindor's shoulders. "They said it was like you'd been breathing in car fumes and factory run off since birth. That your body was already adapted to a certain level of poison that… that being here in Lucis was like… like having an oxygen high…"

Harry couldn't remember what it was like when he first arrived, he was freaking out too much about losing his wand and his glasses and having all the local wildlife trying to eat him. By the time he had calmed down enough to notice, he had probably adapted and wouldn't have even realised there was a difference beyond the taste of the air - which he _had_ noticed. Not even Hogwarts had tasted so green.

Cor's grip shifted, and Harry felt lips against his neck making his stomach twist pleasantly.

But that was as far as it went. A kiss against his neck, a tighter hug, and then he stepped back. His expression was shuttered and the pleasant twist in the pit of Harry’s stomach dropped into one of dismay and guilt. “I don't know what your home is like, but the medics said that it is a miracle that you're as healthy as you are. _Please_ , please, just – let us take care of you?”

He grimaced, “I don't need taking care of, Cor,” he pointed out tightening his grip on the Insomnian's elbows, “No. Listen to me,” he requested when the sergeant looked up, pained, opening his mouth to argue. “I'm not going to lie and say things were great growing up. But I came out of it as best I could,” he explained calmly, pieces sliding into place in the back of his head with new understanding. “You're trying to force a level of physical health that I have _never_ had. I don't even know what these people are trying to fix. Yes, you've said I died. Has that caused me brain damage from oxygen deprivation?” he asked seriously, “Has it damaged my heart during resuscitation?” he asked, hoping he got the word right because it had been a LONG time since he'd had to think of muggle medical terms. Thank god for Aunt Petunia's obsession with Holby City.

“Your lungs are – ”

“Like tissue paper. You said. You're the only one who _has_ said,” he pointed out coolly, making the Insomnian pause and straighten up. Harry nodded at the look on his face. “Yeah. I'm not an idiot Cor. I feel fine, and absent anyone telling me otherwise and specifically how, of course I'm going to get pissed off about being basically _arrested_.”

“Arrest- you haven't been arrested!” he spluttered.

“Well what would you call being locked in a room against your will by people who when you last saw them were happy to wave a gun in your face because you had a foreign accent?” the Gryffindor asked blandly. “Constant observation without explanation, shoes being confiscated, no privacy, not even being allowed into the bathroom without someone there to break the lock and make sure I'm not up to anything nefarious,” he listed, ticking off his fingers.

Cor scrubbed his hand through his short hair, “All of your clothes were contaminated by that gas, they had to clean them and afterwards there didn't seem a point in returning them since you were still here for observation. The medics need to keep checking on you to make sure there were no complications.”

“And the guards on the door?” Harry prompted dryly with a raised eyebrow.

Cor stared at him for a split second and then his eyes widened like he had just had some epiphany.

Harry blinked at him curiously. “Well?” he asked slowly.

Cor rubbed a hand over his mouth, looking uncertain, “Harry... you – weren't exactly – _discreet_ in those tunnels. About your magic,” he pointed out slowly, almost apologetically. The Gryffindor folded his arms and leaned back patiently, waiting for him to get to the point. Cor just looked even more pained, “They _know_. Of course there's going to be guards on the door.”

That – what?

“So – because I have magic there's guards on the door?” he asked sceptically. “What, do they think I'm going to blow the base up now?” he demanded irritably.

“What? No! They're for your protection!” the soldier blurted, looking even more alarmed now. “Harry, you don't have to hide it anymore. Regis is a little upset you didn't tell him before hand but it makes sense given everything why you would keep it quiet.”

Harry frowned at him.

“I think – we're having two different conversations here,” he admitted at length. “Why would Regis be upset that I hid my magic? I know when we first met and I mentioned about the other magical houses that Steyliff Grove mentioned, he said he would look for and protect them, but given how Lucis is at war, if push came to shove and things went badly, he would have the hard decision to make about weaponising them. _That's_ why I didn't say anything – the look on your face says no.”

Cor shook his head, “That – Harry you don't have to hide the fact you're a Lucis Caelum anymore.”

“I'm – not?” he refused, leaning back in bewilderment. “Why does everyone think that? I'm not related to Regis.”

“You have Lucis Caelum magic,” Cor pointed out.

“So does Kimya. I don't see people pointing at her and saying she's a Lucis Caelum,” the Gryffindor argued.

Cor shook his head, “She does. She _is_. Her line comes from the Lucis Fleurets', a branch family of the Oracle line that married a member of the Lucis Caelums'. But her magic leans more to the Oracles, hence why – ”

“There is no _physical_ way for me to be related to Regis, Cor,” Harry stressed firmly. And damn he really wished he could explain the whole world hopping thing without sounding crazy or possibly inviting something a whole lot worse – because, the Astrals were world hoppers. He did not want to get into even more nonsense because of whatever it was they had done.

The soldier looked pained, “Harry, the blood tests say otherwise.”

“The what? You took my _blood?!_ ” he demanded, voice raising in alarm and anger. Cor of all people knew how that might set him off, and he realised quickly enough judging by the look on his face.

“Nothing nefarious. I promise. It – when you were brought in they needed to know if any of the medicine was going to give you an allergic reaction. They took blood, ran tests, when you showed up magically receptive they an your blood against the Royal Guard database to try and find your file since the only people aside from the Oracles and the Lucis Caelums that have magic are the Royal Guard. When it didn't pull up a match, the computers _automatically_ ran it against personel files on the off chance the magic may have passed from a Guard biologically speaking to a child. It's rare, but it has happened. Instead it pinged up against Regis and the King. Not a close connection, but you're definitely blood related.”

Harry shook his head, not believing his ears.

“That's impossible. There is no physical way, Cor,” he repeated, feeling something unpleasant beginning to churn in his stomach. “Look, I know this war is getting out of hand but there's no need to falsify records to try and tie any magic user you happen to stumble on – ”

“Do you really think I would lie to you about this?” he asked earnestly, looking pained.

Harry shook his head, “You? No. But do I think that this sounds all so very suspicious when _I know it isn't possible?_ ” he asked pointedly, “Very much so. I'm sorry Cor. But I don't believe it. It isn't possible.”

There was no way for him to be blood related to Regis, none absolutely what so ever. The Potters could trace their lineage up over hundreds of years to the 'Peverell' family, who were BIG in magical terms, like, almost magic royalty according to Sirius. There were supposedly legends about the Peverell family. Harry had never heard anything about them, and in all honesty, he wasn't much interested either. The fact that Sirius was raised on this information and was able to tell him was enough as far as he was concerned.

Except hadn't Dragon Dick blathered on about people who served the light, responsibility, duty, and all that bullshit? About destiny and being chosen and – why would he have thought _Harry_ was – no, no, no, he didn't _care_ what Dragon Dick had to think about _any_ of this, it wasn't possible!

Lily and James were his parents, he wasn't some – some transdimensional kidnapped baby stolen from Royalty. His life was fucked up but it wasn't _that_ fucked up!

He felt sick.

“Harry – ” Cor began only to stop immediately when the Gryffindor held a hand up, having to cover his mouth and turn away as his breathing picked up.

Sirius had never mentioned any stories about his mother being pregnant.

Nothing about how his dad reacted when he found out he was going to be a father. It was – was as if they found out they were being targeted by Voldemort, went into hiding, bam, sudden baby. And then death.

He knew so little about his life.

His earliest memory, and even then he had to strain for it, was the night they were murdered. He needed the help of a Dementor to recall any details beyond laughter and green light.

...In absolutely none of his flashbacks at the hands of a Dementor... did Lily ever call him ' _her baby_ '...

He vomited.

Good thing he was close to the toilet.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. His life was fucked up but _it wasn't that fucked up – they wouldn't lie to him like that – they wouldn't – they_ _ **wouldn't**_.

“Step aside, Staff Sergeant!”

“Don't!”

Someone unfamiliar grabbed his back and hair.

“NO!”

He tried to elbow them off but the banishing charm flung them off their feet and out of the bathroom entirely to skid on the floor of the medical bay.

He coughed, inhaling wrong, and – it was like someone lit a match in his chest, everything started burning and he coughed and coughed and _coughed_ and threw up, only to inhale on it and gag and vomit again and cough even _harder_.

Fuck.

He was never getting out of this medical bay.

 

* * *

 

Harry had never been forced to deal with a breathing tube.

He never wanted to ever again after the first time he woke up with one jammed down his throat and nearly flipped his shit. Both Regis and Cor had thankfully been there to calm him down because the medics wouldn't go fucking near him – which, _good_ , it looked like someone had finally had a serious conversation with them about ' _do not touch the volatile magic user when he cannot see you and does not expect it_ '.

Eventually the tube was removed, but he was forced to deal with a breathing mask, he was now hooked up to an IV, a heart monitor, and his arms were _restrained_.

If he hadn't felt so drained he might have protested.

Knowing that during his minor break down in the bathroom he had banished the medic that touched him into a wall, and later woke up semi-delirious and flung someone out of a window before summoning _Prongs_ to launch a Royal Guard into a wall was... well it made sense that he was restrained. He didn't even try arguing against them once Regis explained why they were there. He nodded and rasped an apology as best he could before going back to sleep.

He dreamed, distantly and hazily, of Bahamut. Of his parents, only they weren't. They faded away like illusions, vanished in phoenix fire and white light, Sirius' voice telling him that they went into hiding, telling him that Lily had been pregnant when Voldemort found them. He said James had been over the moon, the charms said it was a little girl. All he said about Harry was that his parents went into hiding, and died to protect him.

His mother's voice swam endlessly through his dreams, ' _Not Harry – take me instead. Not Harry. Please I'll do anything. Not Harry_ '. His father's voice ' _Take Harry and run – he's here_ '.

Harry. Harry. Harry.

_You look so much like your father, but you have your mother's eyes_.

Weren't green eyes a double recessive trait? Brown eyes were a dominant trait, like brown hair.

If Harry had black hair, surely he should have had brown eyes too.... Other wise he would have had his mother's double recessive traits of red hair and green eyes. Even Aunt Petunia.... she only had the recessive blonde hair and blue eyes. Dudley had inherited those from her.

_You look so much like your father, but you have your mother's eyes._

_That's one hell of a resemblance. Has he left the Crown City at all recently?_

_No. I'm the first one to leave in over twenty years. It could just be a coincidence._

_You don't really believe that, do you?_

_No..._

He woke up to Regis next to him, the man's face was wet, and he was gripping his hand tightly muttering under his breath, _begging_ him to please stop scaring him like this, Astrals damnit, he'd only just _found_ him. He had always wanted a little brother but his father – his father thought it would complicate his succession if there was another potential Royal.

Harry twitched his hand, making the man jerk and look up, he had definitely been crying.

“M'not Royalty,” he gasped breathlessly through his mask.

Regis sniffed and wiped his face, “Don't talk Harry. The panic attack you had with the breathing tube gave you internal lacerations,” he explained reaching for a cup on the beside, “Here, ice chips, I'm going to move your mask a little so you can have some. Until you're a bit stronger, this is the best we can do for your throat,” he explained as he began to fuss with the breathing mask, shifting it up so that it continued to cover his nose, but left his mouth free to take some of the ice.

The Prince fed him a few chips, sniffing every now and again. The medical bay was dim, but not dark, and it was quiet aside from the twin heart monitors that were connected to him and to Kimya. There was no sign of Cor.

“Harry, I am sorry, I never – I didn't realise you wouldn't have – ” Regis began to babble before stopping himself and frowning, concentrating on repositioning Harry's breathing mask and putting the ice away. “Cor told me about your conversation. And about your little excursion,” he added with a miserably disapproving look. “It – it never occurred to me that you didn't – didn't know how extensive the damage you suffered truly was, or why we would be so adamant about your health and safety. I know it was maddening, please know it was not done out of punishment, I swear.” He reached out and gently stroked some of Harry's hair from his forehead, looking so tender and pained that he couldn't help but feel like an asshole all over again when the man's face crumpled and his eyes went suspiciously wet and shiny, “I have only just found you, I do not think I could bear the thought of your loss so soon. Harry, please, _please_ , do not leave this medical wing again, not until the doctors clear you. Your throat, sinuses, lungs, and brain have been severely damaged by these incidents. The gas destroyed your soft tissues, your eyes, throat, sinuses, your lungs, they were all crippled, and because you couldn't breathe, your blood couldn't carry any oxygen. You had severe oxygen deprivation which began to shut down parts of your brain, causing hallucinations and delirium, and with the toxins getting into your blood, you were scant inches from kidney and heart failure.”

He was crying in earnest now, gripping Harry's hand tightly, “If I had not had any Phoenix Down on me, you would have died, Harry. I was forced to bring you back twice during the surgery and resuscitation process.” He looked over his shoulder at Kimya, “We had to do much the same for Kimya. But I fear – I fear it.... may not have been enough.”

Harry shuddered, fear making his stomach feel cold and shivery. But. She was in medical. They had magic. She would be fine, right? They could fix her. They fixed him. It – it wasn't like she was suffering like the people in the Janus Thickney ward, right? She – she couldn't be like Neville's parents?

Regis turned back to him and kissed the back of his knuckles, “The medics are losing hope every day. And they – they fear that another relapse may mean the same for you,” he explained fearfully, his grip almost _painful_ on Harry's hand. “Your lungs are – not good. And if you suffer any more oxygen deprivation it may cause permanent brain damage for you. Memory loss, paralysis, we cannot even begin to guess at what those damages may mean for you. Promise me, _promise me_ , please Harry, you will stay in this bed and do your best to get better?” he begged tearfully.

He hadn't realised it was so bad. Or they were that scared.

He squeezed the man's hand a little and nodded slowly. “Okay,” he rasped quietly.

The hug he received was warm and gentle, the Prince doing his best not to jostle him or any of his IVs and monitors.

“Thank you. That's all I can ask of you, Harry, please, just get better. Focus on your health,” the man begged as he sat back, as what little strength Harry had began to fail and sleep reached up for him. “My father's retainer should be arriving soon. We will speak properly when he arrives, and you have regained some strength.”

 

 

 


	35. Chapter 35

The next morning he woke to a painful pinch in his forefinger, and raised voices.

An unfamiliar man above him glanced down at his face, dark skin paling by degrees a split second before Harry jerked his chin - and he was _blasted_ off his feet and into the far wall.

His restraints flipped open with a flex of magic and several voices started yelling loudly as he sat up.

Regis looked as though he had been nose to nose with a stern looking man in black and white clothing at the foot of his bed, now both looking at him in alarm. Weskham was running around the edge of the beds to the wall, his face stricken, as he reached for the fallen man Harry had thrown away from him. And then Harry saw the three men in Crownsguard uniform, one of whom reaching for the gun at his hip -

The shield charm burst out of one hand the exact moment as he summoned the gun with his other - Cor grabbed his wrist the second it smacked into his palm, a familiar comforting weight, cold metal in his hand, sliding his arm over Harry's back and pulling him close - away from the strangers.

" **THAT IS** **_ENOUGH!!_ **" Regis roared across the room, magic sparking and fracturing through the air, making everyone freeze.

"...Royalty should not raise their voice," the stern faced man scolded coldly from the other side of Harry's shield charm. Both he, and the Crownsguard had been shoved backwards by it, to the other side of the room. He examined the golden dome separating him from the Retinue and turned his gaze to Harry who glared suspiciously at him. The fuck was this guy's problem?

"Royalty also expects to be listened to when they tell someone not to touch something," Regis retorted with scathing force that had the stern faced man pause and turn to face him with an inscrutable expression. The Prince lifted his chin stubbornly, "I gave strict instructions that this young man was not to be disturbed until cleared by the medical team here. You may be my father's Shield, Lord Amacitia, but that does not mean your Authority outweighs my own. Leave. Now. So that we may clean up your mess," he commanded firmly.

There was a long silence as the stern faced man watched him with a stony expression before bowing to him. "As you command, Your Highness," he intoned before turning on heel and marching out of the medical bay without a backwards glance, head up, shoulders back, his black and white clothing swirling impressively behind him as he left.

That was Clarus' father? What a hard ass.

"You are dismissed as well," Regis added, narrowing his eyes on the three Crownsguard remaining. "Lord Amaugh will remain until cleared by medical as well," he added when one of the men glanced at Weskham as he helped the first man to his feet. They - looked surprisingly similar. Relatives?

Cor’s grip on his wrist tightened a little as the guard he stole the gun from glanced their way for a second before bowing to Regis and leaving the room, colleagues following after him, closing the door behind them with a quiet little click.

Regis breathed out, slumping, “You could not have awoken at a worse moment, Harry,” he complained tiredly.

“I’m not apologising,” the Gryffindor rasped through his oxygen mask, feeling Cor relax against him and let go of his wrist, even if he didn’t remove the arm around his back, or move away.

“I’m not asking you to,” the Prince said with a sigh, “Not to Uncle Dianthus anyway. But I think Augustus deserves one,” he admitted with a concerned glance to Weskham as he aided the older man to sit down in one of the many chairs that surrounded his and Kimya’s hospital beds. They were even dressed similarly, though the older gentleman, Augustus Amaugh, wore a fancy black, silver, and white mantle with tassels over his shoulders, giving himself a much more official air than Weskham who sometimes looked like a glorified butler.

Seeing the man wince as he sat did make Harry guilty though. He liked Weskham, he didn’t want to upset the man. He allowed the shield charm to fizzle out. “Sorry sir,” he rasped awkwardly.

Mister Amaugh waved him off as he grimaced, straightening up in his chair, “Quite alright, young man. His Highness _did_ warn us. The fault lies with myself and Lord Amacitia,” he admitted in a pleasant rumbling baritone, with an unmistakable British accent. Harry glanced at Weskham in bewilderment, but the young Retainer didn’t seem to notice, too busy fussing over his relative, so he looked up at Cor who only ducked his head and pressed his face into Harry’s hair. So no help there either.

That was when the door opened and Clarus burst in, Cid on his heels, both looking worried.

“What the hell happened? Dad just came storming past bitching about uppity royal brats finally growing a pair, what did you _say?!_ ” he squawked, making Mister Amaugh chuckle from his chair and Weskham groan in dismay. Clarus however jumped about half a mile. “Holy - Uncle Aug!”

“Good afternoon, Clarus. You are as energetic as always,” the older man greeted with a kind smile, wincing a little when he moved badly. Harry could see where Weskham got his calm and kind attitude from quite easily.

“What happened? Are you alright?” Clarus asked in concern, stepping closer and then wavering and leaning in Regis’ direction with a torn glance at his Prince.

Mister Amaugh shook his head, “I am fine. A little bruised, but that is what I get for listening to your father’s bad decisions. One would think after this long I would have learned better,” he chuckled, smiling almost sweetly at his relative as Weskham drew a potion from the Armiger to crack upon his back. “Ah, that is much better. Thank you, Weskham.”

“What were you even doing?” Harry asked warily, pushing his mask up so he could be heard clearly - only to have Cor nudge him, _hard_ , and pull it back down with a scowl. Harry glowered at him in annoyance, and got a kiss on the forehead in apology. But the mask stayed up, and when he reached to move it, his hand was caught and pointedly lowered into his lap, and held there.

Regis coughed a little, and Harry felt his face beginning to burn because - none of the Retinue were actually _aware_ of, well, how far things had come between them.

There was a quiet beep from Mister Amaugh that saved the two teenagers from any heckling or ribbing from Regis or Clarus, and the older Retainer withdraw a black box with silver designs on it. Everyone turned to watch as the man popped the lid and tore out a strip of - receipt paper? Harry eyed it, and then everyone around him. They were all eyeing the little scrap of paper with _intensity_.

Mister Amaugh nodded as he read the receipt, as if he had expected to see exactly what was on it. “Test confirmed. Ninety-eight point seven percent match. Thirty-three point three percent genetic drift.” He looked up and huffed a half smile at them, “Eleven generations.”

Harry frowned at him, “And what is all _that_ supposed to mean?” he asked coolly, feeling Cor’s hand tighten on his hip beneath the covers.

Regis sat down looking a little faint, “It means that you are descended through the Wanderer’s line. Eleven generations. One of Crepera’s brothers must have - ” Harry arched an eyebrow at him and he coughed a little. “Ironically. Harry. The very tomb you took us to find, that was the tomb of the Rogue, Queen Crepera Lucis Caelum. She came to power many, many years ago in a time when it was unheard of for women to achieve such positions of power - her father was slain in a daemon attack and, at the time, it was believed her three brothers were killed as well. As the eldest and only remaining Lucis Caelum, she took the throne and did a magnificent job, earning Bahamut’s favour for her service and becoming a King of Yore.”

Harry sighed, “Regis, we aren’t related,” he reminded the Prince. He refused to believe it. He hadn’t had an awful lot of time to think about it but surely, _surely_ , if he had been adopted then it would have only given more proof, more credit, to the power of his mother’s love for him. Then there was the blood wards that protected him. They would not have worked if he had not been blood related. Magic was good, but it couldn’t change genetics, otherwise the Purebloods wouldn’t get so up their fucking assholes about purity of blood when they could literally just swap out a child’s prior ancestry with a fresh batch. No. If he had been adopted, Sirius would just use it to assure him of how much Lily and James Potter had loved him, that they would lay their lives down for their baby even without that blood connection. Dumbledore would use it as further proof that he was not the echo of Voldemort despite their identical upbringings, unrelated and unloved, he would use it as proof that _he_ had not failed as a teacher and that Tom Riddle had always been _irredeemable_. 

Harry had panicked. But now he chose to believe in the simple fact that Lily and James were his parents and they loved him. That was enough.

It had always been enough, really.

Because that was all he would ever really have.

“I am afraid, the tests cannot lie, young man,” Mister Amaugh explained solemnly as he set the box down and handed the scrap of paper to Weskham who scanned it over before passing it to Clarus who glanced but quickly passed it on with a pained expression to Regis. “When the standard blood tests happened to draw a magically inherent match to His Royal Highness, the Citadel is automatically informed,” the Retainer explained calmly. “His Royal Majesty immediately called his son to ascertain the situation, and a second blood sample was forwarded directly to the Crown City. Unfortunately, there was a little bit of spoiling by the time it arrived, there would be no preventing that, and the tests still produced a match. That was when it was decided that I should come and perform the test personally with a fresh sample to silence absolutely every doubt that could or would be raised.”

Harry shook his head, “But - it’s not possible. I’m not royalty. You wouldn’t _want_ me as royalty. I grew up in a fucking - ” He cut himself off sharply before he gave away too much.

“Yes? Grew up in a _what?_ ” Regis asked pointedly, looking between him and Cor with a frown. He didn’t know why he was looking at _Cor_ of all people, Harry hadn’t told him shit about what the Dursleys did to him. He said Uncle Vernon was heavy handed, but afraid of getting Freak on him - absolutely nothing about the cupboard had been mentioned and Harry would be _taking it with him to the grave_. 

“An unsuitable environment,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

Mister Amaugh chuckled, “Not one single member of the Royal Family has been born knowing what end of a sword to hold, or which spoon is best for soup. That is what Retainers such as Weskham and myself are to teach you. And knowing my nephew, he has been trying to do just that since he received the first results.”

“With little success,” Weskham added with a faintly irritated look at him.

Harry winced, “In my defence,” he managed to say, lifting his mask before Cor dragged it back down his face, “Would you stop - in my defence, I thought you were doing it as a punishment,” he explained, leaning away from the teenager and pushing his mask up again. 

Augustus laughed outright at that, "All young royals say the same," he hurtled as Harry lost the exceptionally short lived fight to prevent Cor from pulling his oxygen mask back down over his mouth and nose. The older retainer chuckled to see it, "I would resign with grace, young man. I know of absolutely no one more stubborn or determined than Young Leonis," he explained with a fond smile at the sixteen year old who blushed and looked away, tightening his grip on Harry's waist.

Various snorts and scoffs went up amidst the Retinue.

"'E's definitely met his match in Harry," Cid commented, desert dry, from his seat.

"Tell me about it," Clarus grumbled, folding his arms.

Weskham massaged his temples, "Truly, I can think of no one else more _deserving_ of the headache they create than each other," he complained tiredly which only the two teenagers flush and Regis laugh a little weakly.

"They - are certainly well matched," he explained diplomatically. 

Harry shot him a scathing look while Cor gave him his best bitch face. "You were trying to shove us together before I even left Meldacio!"

"I am a fantastic judge of character," Regis informed him loftily.

"He thought it was _hilarious_ how Cor could barely string a sentence together around you," Clarus corrected without hesitation. Harry flushed horribly at the reminder of how awful he had been to the Insomnian over something as stupid as a simple misunderstanding, that he had been fucking _shy_ the whole time.

"It does, however, present us with a somewhat snarly issue though," Augustus interrupted with an apologetic look at the two teenagers that had Cor tensing horribly at Harry's side, and made the Gryffindor scowl and bristle as well, eyeing him suspiciously. "Political manoeuvring being what it is, a second Lucis Caelum of a certain age - "

" **Absolutely not** ," Harry snarled with narrowed eyes, the light fixtures on the room rattling ominously.

"He isn't talking about arranged marriages," Cor interrupted, neatly cutting through the absolutely sick feeling of terror and fury the man's words ignited in the pit of his stomach. Arranged marriage? Getting with someone he didn’t know, letting them _touch him_ , being _expected to_  - no, no, **_no, absolutely not._ **

Augustus' eyes widened as he realised his slip, “No, no, certainly not! Insomnia has not done such things for many, many years. No. Most assuredly not," he quickly assured. 

Harry swallowed and drew his magic back in, embarrassed. "Sorry…."

Regis waved it off, "It is an understandable mistake to make if you are unaware. Tenebrae still arranges political marriages, and I hear the practice is often implemented in Niflheim by Imperial edict on occasion," he explained with a disgusted wrinkle of his nose at the thought of the country's ruler interfering with the personal lives of his people in such a way. "No, what he means is _your_ relationship. And you specifically."

Cor suddenly went stiff and bright red, yanking his hands away as if burnt, Augustus and Clarus snorted on their laughter as Harry turned to look at him in confusion.

"I - we - haven't - I - " the Insomnian sputtered nervously, looking between Regis and Augustus with wide eyes.

Weskham exchanged a look with a suddenly amused Cid, "I would have said that was quite obvious, but after today, I do have to wonder," he admitted almost playfully. "None of us were aware they had progressed to this point with their little romance. It could very well have gotten that far."

Cor blushed even more darkly while Harry frowned at them in confusion.

Clarus huffed mirthfully, "You're royalty, Harry. People will spread rumours that you and Cor have been fucking out of wedlock to try and cause a scandal for the Lucis Caelums’," he explained plainly, _thankfully_. So that was what Mister Amaugh meant by 'of a certain age'.

"We haven't!" Cor quickly promised, looking worried.

But he certainly wanted to. Cor had been pretty upfront about it back in Leide when Harry said he doubted anyone would want to have sex with him. The Insomnian had been... painfully and embarrassingly honest in his frustration with how obtuse he had been about it all only... two weeks ago. Fuck. Had it really only been two weeks? Two and a half?

"Is it anyone's business if we did?" he asked coolly instead, pushing all of those thoughts aside to focus on here and now, ignoring the way Cor probably hurt himself turning to look at him so fast. His neck even cracked. It sounded uncomfortable.

Augustus coughed into his hand, hiding his amusement quite well, but he had all the same tells that Weskham did, and was thus fairly easy to read. "Well, ignoring the scandals it would likely cause that a member of the royal family was playing fast and loose with, ah, the friendship of his thighs," Regis sputtered a giggle into a fist that he tried to pass off as a cough, he wasn't very convincing, "There would be significant push back purely because, and I hate to raise it, because Cor's family are of Niflheim. It would be seen as a snub of Insomnia and Lucis as a whole that a member of their own royal family would prefer take up with the son of a refugee instead of one of them."

Cor bowed his head, hands fitting in his lap and Harry felt something turn over and twist, hot and angry and _painful_ , in the pit of his stomach to see it in the corner of his eye. Cor did not look surprised, he did not look pained, he was _resigned_ , as though he had expected it, and as much as he hated it, thought there was nothing he could do about it. Harry narrowed his eyes on the retainer, "The fuck do I care about the opinions of a bunch of strangers?" he asked sharply. How patient had Cor been with him since they met? All those early fistfights over a simple misunderstanding, how religiously he obeyed Harry’s unspoken boundaries, his spoken ones, and did his best to get close without making him uncomfortable. Quite frankly, Cor had proven himself above and beyond _anyone else_ in Harry’s entire life. Just because he was the son of a refugee meant _shit for fucking dick_ . Harry wasn’t even _from_ Insomnia. Their opinions could suck on a fucking chode.

Regis dropped his face into his hands, "Harry you _can't_ say things like that," he groaned.

"Why not?" he asked coolly, leaning back in his bedding to fold his arms and glare at them. "Insomnia doesn't even know I exist. Why should their opinions matter to me?"

"Because you are a member of the Royal family - " Augustus began to explain only to have Harry hold a finger up and silence him.

"Just because I share blood, does not make me royalty,” he declared flatly, “If that were the case, Romania and Mongolia would have some SERIOUS problems given how both Vlad and Ghengis got around. Not to mention the Chinese emperor and his _two hundred wives_.”

Regis leaned back in horror, “T-two _hundred_?”

Clarus looked intrigued, “Two hundred you say?”

“History says it was _not_ as fun as you think it is,” the Gryffindor sniffed. Chinese court intrigue was considered leagues above anything the Brits had, and heads above the Italians purely because there was more of it (meanwhile the Italians cornered the market on sheer **D R A M A** apparently). “Who else aside from the people on this base know I have magic? That I have even the slightest connection to the Lucis Caelum family? No one. That’s who. Just have them all sign some kind of secrecy paperwork and no one has to worry about me.”

Augustus looked genuinely alarmed, “Young man, Harry, do - you not wish to be recognised?” he asked hesitantly.

The Gryffindor shook his head, wrinkling his nose, “Not particularly.” Aunt Petunia had been a Royalist, a major supporter of the Monarchy. She religiously bought just about every newspaper and magazine that features Princess Diana, either of her sons, the Queen, the Queen Mother, Prince Philip, anyone. She would sigh and stalk Debenhams in search of cheap knock-off outfits that lined up to anything the Princess wore out and about. She had even cut her hair and styled it to match. Harry had grown up in the shadows, watching the paparazzi stalking the royal family and his aunt lap it all up eagerly even as she complained about how the ‘vultures’ never showed their royal targets any mercy or respect, or allowed them any privacy either. Harry did _not_ want to be on the receiving end of that. Nuh uh.

“Sounds far too much like responsibility, and I want no part of it,” he declared.

Cid cackled and Regis looked at the teenagers plaintively, even as Augustus frowned unhappily and Weskham pinched the bridge of his nose.

“On top of that,” Harry continued firmly, “I _will_ be going home when Sirius comes for me.”

“Sirius, your godfather. You said he was related, a distant cousin through your father?” Regis asked curiously, looking at Weskham and Augustus thoughtfully.

Harry flicked a stinging hex at him, making the Prince yelp and slap his hands over the tiny red welt that popped up on his forehead, “Sirius’ cousin married into _my_ family. Not the otherway around.” He then looked at Augustus, “Seriously. I mean no disrespect, but Lucis isn’t my home. I came here by accident and I have never had any intention of staying. I _need_ to go home. I left in a - there was a fight, I got caught up in something and my friends were left behind to fight alone. I need to know they’re alright,” he explained, swallowing as he stared down at his fingers. “I.... can’t - it’s been ...difficult. I tried so _so hard_ not to like anyone here. Not to get close,” he rasped feeling a lump in his throat as homesickness warred with just about everything else. He didn’t want to go, but he couldn’t stay, and he wanted to go home, but he didn’t want to leave Cor or Regis or anyone else in the Retinue behind. And he _loved_ Hogwarts, but he loved _Eos_ too. And it was starting to get all tangled up. 

Cor pressed a hand against his back, “Harry, stop. Cid, get the medic,” he ordered, rubbing a hand across his back, “Harry just breathe okay. You’re stressing yourself again.”

“Story of my life,” he managed to get out before the medics bustled over and everyone was unceremoniously kicked out of the medical bay so they could deal with him. 

He tried not to let the fact that Cor had already been discharged to the barracks upset him but - yeah. No dice.

Why did his life suck so very badly?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dianthus Amacitia and Augustus Amaugh are my OCs. XDDD
> 
> And as of Harry's going to Eos in 1996 - Princess Diana is still alive. And Petunia is a big ol' fangirl.
> 
> Now, because I'm not sure it's going to come up in fic - Eos doesn't generally have an issue with sex, premarital or otherwise in general, because it's an expression of love, or trust, or just a general pleasure thing, and well their Astrals didn't do the whole puritan/elizabethian SHAME SHAME ON YOU AND YOUR ANKLES AND YOUR SKIN AND YOUR VAGINA SHAME thing that our history has. So there's literally no social backlash on either of those subjects. But for royalty, due to the whole messy issue and potential for bastards, it is generally HEAVILY frowned upon to engage in those acts outside of wedlock. Even with people of the same gender because it indicates a certain... recklessness that is frowned upon. And since its frowned upon for the Royals, it generally evolved to encompass Insomnian culture as well. Lucis don't give a fuck. But Insomnia, like I said, is insular and a little strange. This can also tie into the anti-refugee hysteria that Insomnia is currently going through as well.
> 
> So for Lucis, casual sex = A+ will do again.  
> Insomnia = SHAME. SHAME ON YOU. SHAME ON YOUR COW.


	36. Chapter 36

Harry was left to his own devices for the next three days. He was thankfully taken off the oxygen, the medics gave him a very tentative exam where they were clear to inform him of what they were doing and where their hands were going at all times. He was healing well -  _ better _ than before actually. Which, not surprising? At least to him. Now that he  _ knew _ something was wrong he was being careful and not winding himself up.

It was a little irritating that he knew there were talks happening behind closed doors between the Retinue, Clarus’ Dad, and Weskham’s Uncle that were more than likely about him to some degree. It was an old hurt, a familiar irritating sting. But the days gave him time to think, to plan his approach and his angle of attack, and think up counter measures.

Despite the Retinue knowing about his magic, he had been careful to hide the fact that he wasn’t the  _ only _ magical he knew of. Lucis was at war. A Kingdom known for conquering territories and laying the Royal who did said conquering upon their claimed territories to magically tie their line into the land. They were losing their war with Niflheim, slowly but surely, they were trying to gain Allies, but Tenebrae had lost centuries ago and their entire country were being held hostage against their Royal line, the Oracles. Accordo, there was apparently some manner of push back there, Regis had mentioned that once he had collected the Royal Arms on his pilgrimage then they would be sneaking away to Altissia to seek allies there with the resistance and doing their best to push the Empire away from her waters. If they succeeded, then it would secure Lucis the alliance they desperately needed.

But. What if it didn’t work? And they got  _ desperate _ ? Solheim had both transportation and reality warping technology, potentially also time manipulation to read some of the information on the doors and in the ruins. If Harry was too free and easy with his origins, with the fact that there was an entire population in the thousands of men and women, that he knew where there was a school of  _ hundreds _ of  _ children _ learning how to wield their power… what was to stop them from using that technology and going and getting them? Conquering the magical world and forcing them to fight for Lucis against Niflheim?

Good Men did not make Good Kings. 

It would destroy Regis to take advantage of him, take advantage of any information Harry might share, but he would do it to protect his country and his people because that was how he was raised. He was raised to be a Good King. Being a good man was just a handicap. 

Then there was Niflheim. And Harry didn’t doubt for a single second they didn’t have spies in Lucis, in Insomnia. The only reason he was reasonably sure there weren’t any on the base was purely because in the week he was absent and Kimya was here, Niflheim had not made a move despite hunting for her through Meldacio. He was not about to risk informing Regis of anything and putting his people between two warring powers, and everything they had all ever feared, just to make his life easier. 

His people - they weren’t even prepared for magical warfare of their  _ own _ variety. They wouldn’t stand a chance against Lucis or Niflheim. It would be like watching a werewolf destroy a pug.

He had slipped, often, but never about magic, about Hogwarts. Kimya was the only one he had ever given any manner of hint to regarding the fact that magic was not as uncommon as she thought it was - and that was just so he could convince her that she would be welcome in his home. If she wanted to come with him once they had finished tending to the doors, and exploring the world. 

If the Retinue weren’t suspicious of the fact he  _ wasn’t _ from Ulwaat by now, he would be surprised. And disappointed with them. He had made absolutely no effort to confirm or deny Regis’ theory, and Cor was the only one who knew their community was so well hidden there would be no going back once he rejoined them.

So.

He asked himself what they wanted, how he was going to wriggle out of it, and where to go from here.

And then he made multiple plans just in case. 

And he planned on having exactly no back up on it. The Retinue’s hands were tied, thoroughly, by the King and their own Vows. But there was where Harry had some wriggle room. He wasn’t a Lucian citizen. He was not beholden to their Royal family. They wouldn’t risk him leaving for Niflheim or Tenebrae, that would put him unacceptably close to capture by the Empire. They might make some plan to try and bring him with them to Accordo, but Harry was not going to get involved with a war that had nothing to do with him, that he would be forced to kill in. No. He would be too much of a burden if he wasn’t willing to fight.

If they tried to force him into Insomnia then he would just threaten to destroy as much as he possibly could. They would have to sedate him, and keep him sedated the entire time he was there. Because he was not going to go willingly, and he was not going to stay willingly. 

If the medics cottoned on to what he was planning when he began to question them on their wages, the cost of medical equipment, and drugs, and all the rest of it, they didn’t comment. Just answered and continued to look faintly bewildered and warily uncomfortable. The Royal Guard in the room watched him carefully, he saw Chuckles once, the guy made no attempt to talk to him or even smile so Harry left it be.

And then, finally, after three days of thinking, and plotting, and poorly hidden depression and anxiety that had him barely picking at his food and losing anywhere between minutes and hours to just blindly staring at his toes as he twisted his fingers around a cloth bookmark he found in one of the texts Weskham had been trying to cram down his throat, the medics cleared him. He would be moved out of the medical bay, likely to one of the officer’s quarters like the rest of the Retinue - Harry refrained from wincing because he somehow got the feeling that the Officer’s quarters were going to be expensive. He would see about getting a room at the motel at Taelpar Rest instead. Actually… if what he planned worked, he wouldn’t even have gil for the caravan. 

He was going to need to take a hunt. 

Regardless.

He had been cleared by medical, that meant he was entirely unsurprised to see Clarus sticking his head into the medical bay as he was getting dressed in his hunter leathers. He was surprised no one had attempted to lay out the monkey suit he got back in Keycatrich but - judging by the look on Clarus’ face, perhaps they realised that he would have shown up in his hospital scrubs rather than bend his neck.

“How bad is it?” he found himself asking as he peered up at the Shield holding the door open for him.

He grimaced, “You’re going to hate every minute of it. Try not to set anything on fire, kid,” he warned as he began to lead the way through the base. “My old man is… a hard ass. And very much a traditionalist. King Mors wants you in Insomnia, both to meet you and to keep you safe. But,” he cast a look down at Harry, “somehow I get the feeling you’d rather gargle motor oil and ground glass than let yourself be protected, even from yourself.”

He bristled, but didn’t reply. 

The meeting room he was shown to had a large oval table, tea and coffee were set out on top of it, and he could see the entire Retinue, Mister Augustus, Clarus’ father, Commander Decimus, and another man he didn’t recognise wearing the Royal Guard uniform with considerably more medals than anyone else at the table. Harry was going to hazard a guess that the man was in charge of the Royal Guard contingent at this facility as, from Cor’s explanations, they were a completely different branch of the military than the army despite every base being required to have at least one detachment.

First things’ first.

Harry pulled out his entire stack of payment cards, held together with two elastic bands, and tossed them down in front of Decimus. “That should cover the cost of my medical treatment, room, board, and compensation for the members of staff that I assaulted. Please pass along my apologies,” he explained as the man stared at the stack in confusion. “It’s one point eight million gil. It should be enough. If not, please tell me and I’ll get the rest.”

Decimus sat stiff and uncomfortable in his seat, glancing between Regis and Lord Amacitia, Harry might have felt a bit bad about putting him in a difficult position, but this was the first step in ensuring that there was nothing they could use to chain him to them. 

“Put your money away, boy,” Amacitia commanded, “The Crown is covering your medical costs.”

Harry looked at him, “With all due respect, no. I would rather pay for my own care myself.”

“Harry, please, there’s no need for that,” Regis soothed from his seat, “I am happy to pay towards your well-being. You have been a good friend and ally to us during our time. It is the least I can do to repay you for your efforts,” he explained and - he had clearly been careful with his words. Any hint of his care being paid for because he thought they were related would have been rejected out of hand. 

“Indeed,” Amacitia intoned, examining a sheet of paper beside him, “Regardless of your contributions, your bloodline demands it.”

And there it went, with the sound of an egg exploding in a microwave.

Harry saw the way Regis closed his eyes and clenched his jaw in the corner of his eye even as he felt himself bristle visibly in his seat. “Blood matters little to me,” he grit out shortly, “I will pay my own way. As I have always done.”

Lord Amacitia paused and looked up from his paper, before he set it down and clasped his hands together on the table in front of him, studying the Gryffindor thoughtfully, “You act as though I am your enemy,” he observed coolly, “Why is that?”

“I don’t know you.” Innocent until proven guilty had only ever netted him bruises, burns, broken bones, and attempted murder. It nearly got Ginny killed. It  _ did _ get Cedric killed. “I don’t know your intentions.”

An eyebrow was lifted, “That does not make me your enemy,” he pointed out coldly.

“Doesn’t make you my ally either,” he retorted sharply, narrowing his eyes on the man.

Augustus snorted.

Lord Amacitia snapped his head around to glare at him but the Retainer didn’t even attempt to quiet himself as he chuckled into a closed fist. 

All the tension in the room practically dissolved and he saw the Royal Guard smirk and shake his head while Decimus physically placed his head in one hand, lips moving silently in exasperation. Words to the like of ‘ _ of course he would be like this, of course _ ’ being uttered. Weskham sighed and Cid giggled almost gleefully from his seat. Cor was doing that thing where he was watching him with a look that wasn’t quite a smile but was soft and made him feel flustered and awkward when he spotted it. 

Amacitia pinched the bridge of his nose, “Very well. We shall speak plainly then,” he growled with a frown in Harry’s direction, as if he were at fault for ruining the atmosphere he was trying to build. He probably was, but Harry couldn’t see how Augustus laughing was his fault but whatever. He dragged the sheet of paper he had been reading from earlier back to him, “His Royal Highness tells me you have no desire to be recognised by the Royal Family, nor even enter into Insomnia. Why?” he demanded flatly looking up at him. “From what I have been told you have no roof over your head, you are living off havens, in caravans, and throwing yourself against daemons to earn - ” he glanced at the stack of cards in front of Decimus with a complex expression, “ - considerable sums of money, and possess a less than ideal home-life judging by what was very carefully  _ not _ said. Acceptance into the Royal Family and Insomnia would provide you with safety, security, opportunity, and plenty. Why regret it?”

Harry stared at him, this was not how he thought this conversation would go but, the guy was being honest and plain-speaking. He knew what Harry wanted, but he didn’t know why. To have it all laid out like that did make his decision not to be accepted sound insane but…

“I want to go home,” Harry said just as plainly. “I want to go back to school. I want to play chess in front of the fireplace with Ron, I want to argue over text books with Hermione, I want to hug my godfather and pester him for more stories about my parents.” He took a deep breath, refusing to look at everyone around him. “I didn’t come here on purpose. It was an accident. Being recognised as Royalty comes with responsibilities that I am ill equipped to acknowledge, or handle. It comes with being in the public eye. It comes with duties and standards. I’m not Lucian. And I’m not willing to change for strangers whose opinions mean less than nothing to me. Or go into what is basically a glorified prison.” He looked up at Lord Amacitia, “Because once I go into Insomnia, you won’t let me leave again. Will you? It would be too much of a security risk. Not just because of what you think I am, but because I will have seen things that you don’t want to even risk the Empire knowing about.”

Amacitia looked up at his son, “And in your professional opinion, what do you think?” he asked coolly.

Clarus rubbed his face, “I thought he was a spy for the longest time,” he admitted slowly, “That coloured my prior reports. He isn’t a security risk in the way you’re thinking, but he is one none the less. If you’re thinking of taking him back to Insomnia no matter what, you’re going to have to sedate him, and then keep him under.”

His father’s eyebrow raised sharply and Clarus shrugged helplessly. He looked at Weskham then.

“Unless you plan on kidnapping the lad and keeping him locked up in a prison, he won’t be coming,” he confirmed tiredly, “Harry is particularly ill-suited to to the exigencies of Royal life. He is a good boy but does not have the patience for politics, nor the tolerance for traditions that make little sense to him.”

Cid snickered. “Don’t help none that ‘e  _ hates _ th’Draconian somethin’ fierce.”

Harry scowled darkly as several sets of eyes turned to him. “If you met the asshole you’d feel the same,” he grit out nastily. “Incidentally,” he added looking over at Regis, “The undead fucker in the Tempering Grounds - ” Lord Amacitia and Commander Decimus jerked so hard that their chairs scraped the flooring. “ - had some shit to say about being in service to him. Specifically how it doesn’t  _ end _ . The Ring gets its power from somewhere.” Regis paled by degrees, his expression twisting into something  _ hunted _ .

“What do you mean, undead?” Decimus demanded, he looked at Cor, “Leonis, several of my men went in there and never came out! What do you mean by Tempering Ground and undead?” he demanded harshly looking between the two of them.

Cor grimaced, “It is a place to test Shields - ”

“Destroy them,” Harry corrected, making them both look over. “Shields that leave their King’s side are useless. The Tempering Grounds are a trap for disloyal Shields who care more for their own power than their duty.”

Decimus scowled at them, “You knew what that place was and never thought to inform me before I sent good men and women down there to be  _ slaughtered?! _ ” he barked across the table.

“We received that intelligence after the fact,” Clarus informed him stiffly with a frown, “I have our family Retainer researching sites of historical importance to the Royal Family.”

“So that’s what you’ve had Jared doing,” Lord Amacitia mused.

 

* * *

 

The meeting took several hours, it covered several subjects, and resulted in a number of Non-Disclosure Agreements being signed by all parties present. Since Harry didn’t want to be recognised by Insomnia, or by the King, he signed papers to the effect of promising to keep his connection quiet, not to use their name, not to claim anything in their name, etc, etc, and essentially forswear any connection to the family.

The look of almost bewildered offence on Decimus’ face when he dragged the paperwork over to sign was almost comical. Less so was the look on Cor’s face when he looked over and said something scathing about how he shouldn’t have been surprised that someone  _ he _ was interested in would be like this. That answered the question of whether or not they broke up amiably.

Harry made sure to pull Regis aside afterwards, “Please don’t take this as a - a rejection of  _ you _ ,” he begged quietly making the young Prince blink at him. “I just - I  _ can’t _ \- I would just be an embarrassment and - ”

Regis dragged him into a hug, cradling the back of his head in one hand, and wrapping his arm around his shoulders with the other, it was tight, but positioned so that if Harry wanted escape all he had to do was take a step back and duck. It didn’t - he was fine. It was fine. The hug didn’t make his skin crawl, it was  _ fine _ . Regis’ touch was  _ fine _ .

“I know. I know Harry, I understand,” he murmured quietly into his hair, “For what it is worth, you would have made fine royalty.”

“Hah, a fine lie, that,” the Gryffindor laughed into his shoulder, hugging him back. “I would have been terrible, and we both know it. I’m a gremlin.” 

“Maybe. But I think you could have pulled it off. Everyone likes the loveable scamp,” he chuckled. They stayed like that for a moment, the rest of the Retinue politely staying clear of the corner that they were stood in. “You may not wish to claim the name, nor any of the power that comes with it, but please now, regardless of this day, you will have me as family. Brother, cousin, dear friend, whatever name you wish to call it. No matter what that paper says, if you have need of me, I will answer.”

Harry pressed his lips together and buried his face into Regis’ shoulder, tightening his grip.

 

* * *

 

He was in the process of packing up his belongings and storing them in the truck ready to try and figure out how to drive it the hell out of there when Cor sprinted across the motorpool to him.

“Kimya’s awake!”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please advise me on tags you think should be added. I'm still new to the AO3 system here.


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